


Unexpected Places

by cinnamads



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flashbacks, Initially Pre-Canon, Multiple Pov, Shingeki no Kyojin: Attack on Titan Spoilers, Shingeki no Kyojin: Kuinaki Sentaku | Attack on Titan: No Regrets Spoilers, Slow Burn, like really really slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:55:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 49,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28165128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamads/pseuds/cinnamads
Summary: You've lived as the daughter of a nobleman in the confines of wall Sina for your entire life; until, of course, your father is killed in cold blood and everything you've ever known slips through your fingers. Somehow managing to escape the insurrectionists after your blood, you're cast into the reality of the world beyond Sina when the young Commander Erwin Smith takes you under his wing.As mystery unfolds, you're caught in a complex web of councilmen and bloodthirsty usurpers in the ruthless battle for influence and power within wall Sina. Blackmail, old money, and corruption threaten to upend military order as you navigate the political complexities of the legacy your father left in his wake. Fraud and misconduct run far deeper than anyone could have imagined.Your head lies with your birthright. Your heart lies with your freedom. The Survey Corps headquarters is filled with unexpected places. Those unexpected places are filled with unexpected friends.
Relationships: Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Reader, Levi/Reader
Comments: 121
Kudos: 294





	1. There Were Worse Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi ! if you've come this far, thank you for reading, and leave feedback if you'd like to read more. very very VERY slow burn ladies and gents, buckle up.
> 
>  **warning** : this story begins pre-canon, but will begin to follow canon events chronologically. at times your story will depart from the main plotline, but ultimately this fic will follow canon to the end; spoilers are inevitable.

Poise. Elegance. Grace. Charm.

_“These traits are what make noble women. Each and every one of you stands as a testament to these traits, tried and true.”_

The 29th graduating class of the Reiss Academy for Ladies was composed of a handful of young women hailing from notable families in the inner walls. The school, originally funded by the noble family Reiss, had seen hundreds of young ladies pass through its walls, each leaving more proper than they arrived. Well-mannered women were a commodity. The school served as an assembly line.

_“It is my absolute pleasure to name the top three graduates of the 29th class, beginning with the third.”_

You graduated with honors, like your mother had. Top of your class. Exceptional marks. _Summa cum laude_. The Dean pinned a brooch to the front of your gown.

_“We send you off today with full confidence that you will set the standard for young ladies for generations to come.”_

Your father hadn’t arrived in time for the honors designations. Your dress became increasingly uncomfortable as the formalities dragged on.

_Poise. Elegance._

How many years had it been? You couldn’t remember if your father made it before the ceremony ended.

_Grace. Charm._

“Miss? Your breakfast is prepared. Would you like me to bring it up to you?”

You woke with a start, looking up abruptly from the book in your lap. The smiling face of Francis Lein greeted you from your doorway. You blinked at him, returning to your senses.

“Ah—I'll come down in a moment," you replied with a polite smile, standing and brushing off your gown. Francis bowed his head before ducking out of your room.

You must have fallen asleep reading last night. Again.

You set your book down on the table next to your armchair, groggily rubbing your eyes. That would be the third time now. You peered back down at the book, the cover reading _3DMG: A Functional Manual._

You needed to return it to the Mitras public library before your father discovered you had gone out again. It was a wonder he hadn't noticed already—you weren't necessarily discreet about it.

Your father had paid the librarian to keep you from checking out books, so you paid her double to let you keep them. It was a matter of simple math, besides, the librarian liked you better than your father. Most people did.

There were worse things, you supposed, than unimaginable boredom. 

If boredom were the worst of it, you might have been content with life as it was. Forget books—you could hardly step a foot outside without eyes on you from every corner of the district, let alone make any friends. You'd resorted to talking to the birds that landed on your windowsill like some sort of modern-day Snow White. It was pitiful. You hadn't made friends with people your age since your schoolgirl years, and even then, the students talked. Your family name hovered at the threshold of royalty, carrying with it the ordeal of being known with none of the prestige of recognition.

The ladies' academy was no different. It was worth something to graduate in the top three students, you knew as much. It came as no surprise that your classmates would fight tooth and nail to reach the top of the social ladder. It was difficult to make friends with women who ultimately wanted you below them, as sweet as they were.

The brooch you'd earned sat on your dresser, golden in the sunlight. You sighed, leaning over to adjust your hair in the mirror. If you waited much longer your breakfast was bound to get cold.

Francis had left the door cracked, the sounds of shuffling footsteps and clattering silverware floating up the stairs. You stood to make your way down to the dining room, and silently prayed your father was out.

"Darling!"

Apparently there was no God.

"Good morning," you smiled as your father patted your shoulder fondly, "it's already ten o'clock, don't you have duties today?" You asked, weaving your way around him to set the table.

Francis appeared from the washing room and waved you away with both hands. He took the handkerchiefs from you with a silent smile and proceeded to set the table himself. The two of you engaged in a silent protest for a brief moment before you gave up trying to help, rolling your eyes good-naturedly.

Your father laughed a short, bellowing laugh as he took a large swig from his hip flask, which no doubt was full of mulled wine. "You know my schedule too well. Save space in that big brain of yours for your culinary classes, hm?"

You swallowed, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. You'd been skipping your classes for Sina knows how long and bribing the teacher to keep quiet—you could hardly bake cookies if your life depended on it. When your father's back was turned Francis met your gaze with a knowing smile, stifling laughter. "Of course, father, I've learned quite a bit."

"Wonderful! You must bake me your chocolate pastries sometime, your instructor says they are very good."

You raised your eyebrows, staring over at Francis with a mildly horrified look on your face. The instructor was lying on your behalf, too? You ought to start paying her more. "I'd be happy to!" You lied, (and sincerely hoped that he didn't hold you to that offer any time soon).

There was a brief lull in conversation as Francis finished setting the table, and you sat down across from your father, staring down at your breakfast. He unfolded the morning newspaper and laid it out on the table, grumbling absentmindedly to himself as he flipped through the local news and the Garrison's weekly numbers.

"Stocks just aren't climbing like they used to...must have something to do with the Garrison. Lord knows they're struggling to keep numbers up this time of year." He murmured through the pastry in his mouth. 

"Might have to do with the internal audit the interior police conducted recently," you replied, stabbing a piece of fruit with your fork. "Bad for morale. Did you see one of their section commanders was removed from his position?"

Your father looked over at you curiously. "You've been reading," he noted, although he didn't sound especially happy with that development.

Like most people in life, your father had his vices—one of which was staunch traditionalism. Departures from his idea of what a lady should be didn't sit well with him, and he was entirely devout in his beliefs; Your mother was a proper lady. The only thing she had ever done that wasn't proper was die young. You chewed the inside of your cheek, hesitating to look him in the eye. 

"Ah...a bit. I assumed you'd want me to be more educated in... _useful_ subjects. Politics. Like you."

"Your cookbook is useful enough, no?" He pressed, looking increasingly put off. "You shouldn't read so much, dear, no man will want to marry a woman smarter than him." He bristled, waving for Francis to take his half-finished plate from him. You were taken aback by that, and for a moment you weren't sure what to say. _Marriage._

At your age, you were well aware that you were expected to marry, and very soon. Your father had set up courtings before, but you were desperately pushing off the inevitable for as long as you possibly could before it was forced upon you. You didn't want to marry, nor did you think you were ready, but it was all your father seemed to want to talk about.

You understood his concerns—it was hardly easy raising a noble household without a mother—and for all of your father's hearty laughter, at the end of the day he was still getting _old_. For a brief moment you felt guilty for how long you'd stalled, but the feeling was short-lived.

"Regardless, father, you advise the _King_ ," you replied incredulously, setting your fork down next to your plate. "I'm of the age where I should learn to follow in your footsteps. What good am I sitting around learning how to bake _pastries_?"

"Enough with that talk. You sound ridiculous, follow in _my_ footsteps—"

"I beg your _pardon_?" 

"You are my _daughter_." His voice began to rise. "How many years will it take for you to start acting accordingly?" 

"I've done everything you've ever asked of me since _birth_ , what more could you possibly want?"

"Five suitors, _five_ , and no engagement. You've pushed it off far too long!"

"I'm the age mother was when she married you. Is that who you'd like me to be like? Like my mother?" You snapped, feeling your temper begin to steadily rise.

"It might do you some _good_ ,” your father retorted, slamming his newspaper down as if to punctuate his last word.

"Right, I’m sure dying before the age of thirty would do me some good, too,” you hurled back, pushing away from the table. “Pop out a child and be gone from this world, I’m sure you’d like that _plenty._ "

"Enough!" He shouted, standing up so abruptly his chair tipped over and hit the floor with an ominous thud. " _Enough._ " 

A deafening silence enveloped the room, and you slowly stood up, fuming. The two of you glared at each other for a long moment, fire behind your eyes and fists clenched. Then your father let out a bitter, bellowing laugh, baring his teeth in an obvious attempt to hide his anger.

“Just like your grandmother, Sina knows I could never win an argument with her." He said stiffly, making his way around to the other side of the table and tossing the newspaper in the trash bin. You watched incredulously as he picked up his cap and jammed it on his head, then made his way towards the door.

"I'm going golfing." 

The front door slammed shut, and you stood at the table for a moment longer before collapsing back into your chair, resting your head in your hands.

A long stretch of silence followed as Francis walked from the laundry room to the sink, watching you sympathetically. "Don't mind him," He said gently from the sink, where he stood washing the dishes, "you know he has a temper. Give him time, he'll cool off."

"I know," you said softly, lifting your head and leaning back in your seat. 

Francis Lein was a graying man, 46 years old, 47 in two weeks. What was left of his hair was red, and he had bright, keen eyes and walked with a bounce in his step. He was, oddly enough, one of your closest friends. Maybe your only friend. You took one last deep breath and then stood up, picking up what was left of the dishes on the table and carrying them over to the sink.

"Don't worry about that, dear, you know that's not your job," Francis said gently.

"You know I'll always help, no matter how many times you tell me not to," you replied with a wry smile, rolling up the sleeves of your gown and rinsing your plate. Silence ensued, the only sounds the streaming of water from the faucet and the _clink_ of silverware.

"You look tired," noted Francis.

"I must have fallen asleep reading," you murmured, shaking off your hands and drying them on the towel hung over the sink. Francis chuckled.

"Wouldn't be the first time," he replied good-humoredly, sending you a sidelong glance.

"Ha, ha. Aren't you the jester," you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes. "I really ought to be more careful. If Maxcille had gone up to check on me, she'd have almost certainly told my father I have that _book_ ," you muttered lowly, peering around the corner to ensure Maxcille herself wasn't dusting in the powder room.

"Well, perhaps if you slept in your _bed_..." Francis suggested with a sideways smile.

"Alright, alright, I understand," you huffed in defeat, returning to the sink, "you did me a favor. Now I'll ask for one more." 

Francis raised one eyebrow. "Name it."

...

Pants felt so incredibly exhilarating.

You weren't sure when the last time had been that you'd worn anything other than flowy skirts and frilly dresses. Francis had dredged up a pair of old leather riding pants and had given you a white peasant top, and you had a cap pulled low over your eyes as you made your way through the town square, positively beaming with excitement.

These days were rare, few and far in between, but they were the only ones you had to yourself—days when your father was out and you had a spare moment to breathe. You weren't supposed to leave your home, and certainly not alone, but if you could sneak out from the back door without one of the gardeners catching you, well, Francis wasn't going to stop you.

The day was bright, sunlight streaming in over the rooftops as you made your way away from your home and into town. You reached a fence and hitched a leg over it, rolling over and stumbling to regain your balance, only to run facefirst into someone and fall flat on your face into the mud.

"I'm very sorry, are you alright?" Someone grabbed your shoulder and elbow and hauled you to your feet. You wiped the mud off of your face indignantly, frowning.

" _Shit,_ how am I going to explain this to—" you paused, looking up at the tall, blonde man who stood before you. His hair was tied back into a neat bun, and he had a scruffy beard. Your eyes focused on the badge on his green cape.

Military Police? No—Survey Corps. What the hell were they doing in Mitras?

"I'm alright," you said after a moment, tearing your gaze from his cape and looking up at the man's face. He chuckled a bit, looking embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, my name's Eld Jinn. Survey Corps. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He stuck out his hand, which was probably bigger than your entire head, and you cautiously shook it, discreetly pulling your hat lower over your eyes so as not to reveal your identity. You introduced yourself politely.

"It's my pleasure. I'm a servant for the big house up the road. I was asked to buy some..." You scrambled for something that your father might want, "some wine," you decided, nodding vehemently. "I need some wine—some mulled...wine." There was an uncomfortably long pause. Eld looked at you critically. "Would you know where I could find any?" You added quickly, as though it were an afterthought.

Eld raised one eyebrow. It was a horrible cover story, and you knew the soldier could probably assume you weren't a servant, but he humored you, pointing west. "Just down that alley there's a shop, you should find what you're looking for there." You thanked him graciously, but before you could leave Eld grabbed your wrist to stop you.

"Be home before dusk, we have word that civil unrest is brewing. It would be unwise for a... _servant_ to be caught in the fray. We wouldn't want your employer to be unhappy," he said lowly, releasing you and keeping his eyes trained straight ahead. You blinked once, then turned away with your eyebrows furrowed, heart pounding in a mixture of fear and apprehension.

"I see," you replied, feeling unsteady, "thank you for the warning."

The two of you parted ways, Eld following the main road while you veered off into a side street. Your face felt hot, undoubtedly red with embarrassment. _That was too close,_ you hissed to yourself, entering the alley and reading the storefronts as you passed. You needed to be more careful next time, or someone was bound to recognize you.

As your gaze swept over the storefronts you began to wonder what the soldier could have meant. There were occasional protests pertaining to relevant policy, although none had ever become violent. Then again, you had never seen the Survey Corps in the city. There must be something truly wrong for extra forces to be stationed in the town square, although you hadn't caught wind of an enforced curfew.

You passed the wine shop, since you didn't actually need any. Your father kept so much wine at home he could probably supply the entire Military Police regiment. The street branched once again, and you returned to the main road, steering clear of the city block where Eld was stationed.

A small jewelry cart sat in the sunlight at the end of the street, a tiny, limp umbrella trying and failing to shield the pieces from the sun. You stopped in front of it, peering down at the selection.

"Good afternoon, Miss," said a blonde lady, leaning forward in her wicker rocking chair and peering up at you curiously. You pulled your hat low and smiled politely. "Looking for anything in particular?"

"A necklace," you replied, eyes narrowing as you looked at the multitude of gemstones, carved pieces of ivory, and flat rocks on leather cords, "not formal—do you have anything with emerald?" The lady looked at you for a moment, then hummed and sifted through her jewelry, holding up a silver chain with a pendant at the end, with a small green jewel in the middle. It glittered in the sunlight, glowing a more vibrant green.

"A pretty gem for a pretty lady," the woman said kindly, taking your hand and setting the necklace down in your palm. You looked at it curiously, the small green gemstone cut into a thin diamond and fused into the silver.

"I'll give you five silver pieces for it," you offered, looking at the necklace curiously. The woman grinned toothily, one of her front teeth missing.

"Ten, and I won't tell the Military Police that the Advisor's precious daughter is out and about."

You froze, then slowly glanced up at the blonde woman, meeting her eyes from under the brim of your hat. She chuckled and leaned back in her seat. "I'm kidding, darling. Wear a bigger hat next time," she crowed, tapping the crown of her head. You nervously dug ten pieces out of your pocket and handed them to the lady hastily, your face flushed with embarrassment.

"I can't thank you enough," you said with a sheepish smile, carefully putting the necklace in your pocket, "can I do anything else for you? I can pay you—"

"Don't bother," chuckled the lady, palming the ten coins and tossing them into a satchel tied to her hip. "Wretched old house, your father's is."

"It's not so bad," you replied a bit defensively, although you smiled faintly. "A bit boring, but routine often is."

The woman grinned once more, baring her teeth (or lack thereof). "Francis comes by every morning on his way to the vegetable market," she indicated down the cobblestone road, waving her hand, "old git's always prattling on about the Lady of the house. Smart girl, he says. A keen soul."

You felt the faint smile tug at the corners of your mouth, and you grinned amusedly. "Is that what he says, hm?"

"Silly old bastard. Old man loved your mother, too. Said the same about her. A shame she died so sick," the lady continued, leaning back into the shade provided by her broken umbrella. You became somber for a moment, turning away and watching a bakery cart roll down the street.

"Quite," you replied. You peered up at the woman's broken umbrella, then dug into your pocket once more, pulling out fifteen gold pieces. You silently held them out to the woman. "Please, purchase yourself a new umbrella. Wouldn't want the sun to burn you."

The lady looked at you with wiry eyebrows raised, slowly extending her hand and taking the coins from you. She looked at them warily, like she didn't quite trust the gift. "You know, dearie, you don't have to bribe me. I've the right mind to keep my mouth shut."

"It's not a bribe," you said truthfully, tilting your hat back so the woman could see your full face. "The sun, it bothers you, no? So get a new umbrella. A big one, too." 

She looked at you now, sun-creased eyes softening as she tucked the money away. "I'll get the biggest one I can find."

...

You returned home, a bit shaken from having been caught, but grateful that the lady wasn't going to expose you. The gardens at the periphery of your home were empty, freshly turned dirt sitting in small piles where the gardeners had planted new flowers. You paused at the back door of the manor, peering through a window to see if the coast was clear.

Something was bugging you. That woman selling jewelry had somehow recognized you—what had given you away? Was it your clothes? Your mannerisms? Even worse, though, was the thought that she might have known what you looked like. It had you thinking—did Eld know who you were? Had he recognized you from the very beginning?

The sound of a door slamming inside of your house snapped you back to attention. You didn't have time to deliberate—you could deal with the consequences of being recognized later, as for now you needed to change out of your muddy clothes before your father caught sight of you. You pushed that thought aside and clambered into the back laundry room, ducking low.

"Francis," you hissed, "Francis, I'm back!"

Francis turned around, his eyes widening when he saw the mess you had made of yourself. "Sina, what did you do, roll in the horse's muck?" He scrambled around the piles of laundry and pulled out a dress, handing it to you and peering around the corner to make sure your father wasn't in earshot. "Hurry now, go upstairs to change." He pushed you out into the foyer and you dashed up the stairwell, only turning to whisper a quick _thank you!_ before veering into your room and shutting the door. With a deep sigh, you held up the dress to get a better look at it.

It was a graphite gray, and went all the way to the floor, decorated with embroidery and mesh paneling on your chest and back. Full bishop sleeves made of mesh were gathered with embroidered cuffs. It nearly shimmered in the light, the drapes falling over themselves like waves in a pool of water. It was beautiful—you just had to get out of your muddy clothes before anyone barged in to check on you. You stripped off the clothes Francis had given you and pulled the dress over your head, adjusting the sleeves before looking cautiously into your mirror.

Your own reflection caught you by surprise (maybe because of the mud still on your face). You looked like a princess, but older. Tired. The dress reminded you startlingly of your mother.

A sudden, deep sadness washed over you as you straightened out the sides of the gown and laced up the corset. This was the new dress your father had gotten tailored for you, but why did he—?

Someone knocked sharply on your door. "Ma'am? Your father wants you downstairs soon. The suitor will be arriving soon."

Suitor. A suitor.

You stared at the gown, a growing sense of guilt rising in your stomach. "Of course. I'll be right there," you replied, tearing your gaze from the mirror. You scrambled to stuff the dirty clothes down the laundry chute, but caught yourself and reached into the pants' pocket, pulling out the emerald pendant hastily. You clasped the necklace around your neck and closed the laundry hatch, stepping into a pair of heels. A bucket of water sat by your mirror, and you dipped your hand into it, then wiped the mud from your face. Your reflection taunted you, the dress making you look much more put together than you felt. The guilt settled low in your gut.

This would be the sixth suitor. You had rejected the first five. _The first five._ Not an inch closer to marriage. Nowhere near taking on your mother's role. You stared at the dress he had tailored for you, the tiny woven diamonds catching the light as you straightened up slowly. You caught your own gaze in your reflection and quickly looked away, swallowing thickly. The guests could arrive at any moment, and your father was bound to be waiting for—

_BANG._

You froze, clutching the pendant in your hand and feeling your heartrate begin to speed up. That had sounded awfully like a gunshot, you couldn't be sure, but—

 _BANG._ You heard yelling, and a thud, and then the whole house rattled as though a group of people was storming it.

You got the feeling that they were probably not today's dinner guests.

You looked around in a panic, wondering if your father was at home—was Francis alright? Dear _God_ , what if they had shot him? Was that the thud you had heard? Questions began to whirl through your head as you stumbled about your room, and you grabbed a letter opener from your nightstand—it was sharp enough that you could maybe protect yourself with it, but would it be enough? You stood there, feet glued to the floor in fear as you heard the footsteps begin to get louder. You quickly locked your bedroom door, hoping it would protect you somehow.

Panic rose in your throat and you shoved the feeling down. You needed to keep your head about you. You had your makeshift knife—but you needed a place to hide. They'd find you in your closet, and under the bed, and you sure as hell weren't going to jump out of the window, your bedroom was too high up. You swept your room, your gaze landing on the laundry chute.

Would you even be able to fit in there? That was ridiculous, you had to find another way out.

Footsteps started to pound up the stairs.

Laundry chute it was.

You opened up the metal pipe and shoved your legs into it, then slowly started to lower yourself down into the dusty passageway. The handle to your bedroom door started to turn, and a deep voice shouted "It's locked!" The door shook violently, and you gasped. Someone on the other side was trying to kick it down. You hastily receded the rest of the way into the laundry chute, then closed the metal hatch behind you.

For a moment the only thing you could hear in the closed compartment was the sound of your shaking breath. There was silence, then you heard your bedroom door splinter and burst open, and you said your prayers and let go, sliding down the chute. You barely knew what hit you until you had landed in a pile of clothing in a giant basket in the quiet back laundry room. The door was open, but Francis was nowhere in sight. Perhaps he had run out the back door to save himself—you surely hoped so. You quietly stood up and peered out into the foyer, seeing somebody lying motionless on the floor.

You felt the world slow to a stop, and you nearly forgot the men at your bedroom door as you stared in disbelief at your father's body.

It was as though you'd been frozen in place by some force outside of yourself. You scrambled to the body and fell to your knees, hands shaking as you reached for his pulse and then snapped your hands back, too afraid to touch his body. Your heart pounded as you very carefully held your hand over his mouth. There was no warm exhale, and you slapped a hand over your mouth to suppress any wayward noise.

He couldn't be dead, he _wasn't_ dead. No, he would open his eyes and he would sit up with a hearty laugh, telling you how it was just a joke, laughing at how frightened you had become. Panic rose in your chest and blood roared in your ears.

A sudden rattling cough pierced the air, wet with blood. Your head snapped up, tears streaming in silent rivers down your cheeks as you focused on the aging face of Francis on the other side of the room. You hurried over to him, gasping when you saw the blood oozing from his chest.

"My dear, we haven't much time—" Francis wheezed out, grasping at the front of your dress desperately.

"Francis," you whispered, your voice hoarse, "who did this? How did this—?" You uncharacteristically stumbled over your words, trying and failing to stem the blood flowing freely from his chest. With what looked like the last of his strength he grabbed both of your shoulders, pulling you closer to him urgently.

"You must listen to me, dear. You're his heir, do you understand? They will—" he broke off into a coughing fit, blood openly streaming from his nose down to a pool on the floor, "they _will_ kill you too." The life was draining from his eyes faster than you could catch your breath, and you nodded although you didn't understand, terror's vice grip cold over your heart.

"Who—? Francis, _who_ will kill me? I don't understand—" your voice was rising in panic, your hands wet with hot blood as you pressed helplessly at the bullet wound. "Just save your strength. I won't let you die—you're not going to _die_ , Francis, _I won't let you die_ —" Your hands scrabbled at his chest, using the fabric of your dress to hold pressure to the ragged hole.

Francis reached up and grabbed your face, pulling you uncomfortably close to him. You'd never seen him look so serious in your life.

"Shut the hell up and listen to me!" He croaked, his nails digging into your face. "You must protect yourself," he wheezed, his voice barely above a whisper, ragged and fading quickly. "You must find them—they will help you...they will help—" a horrible gurgling erupted from his throat, and Francis's eyes rolled back in his head. You shook him desperately, wanting to scream but afraid of being heard.

Footsteps began to pound down the stairs.

"Who? Francis, _who_?"

His eyes were slits, blood running down his neck as he seemed to use every last drop of energy to rasp out the words.

"The Survey Corps."

...

You'd never run so fast in your life.

You had no destination, only as far away from your home as you could possibly get. You still had the letter opener stuffed into your stockings under your dress, but you weren't sure you had the strength to use it if need be—the adrenaline flooding your system was the only thing standing between you and death. The roads were dimly lit by lanterns hanging from doorways, and through the rain you spotted a large crate up against a brick wall. You ducked behind it and pressed your freezing hand to your chest, breathing in short spurts as you tried to regain your breath.

It was as though the world was spinning too fast for you to keep your feet underneath you, and you collapsed to your knees, shaking limb from limb. You had just witnessed your father and one of the only people you had ever called your friend both die. Both of your parents were dead— _Sina_ , you were an orphan now. You had no extended family, no friends whom you could run to for help—and what if you ran into those _men_ again?

You shuddered at the prospect, feeling quiet sobs wrack your body as the cold began to seep into your skin. You curled into a ball and covered your arms with the fabric of your dress, shivering uncontrollably. The air was still and cold as you drifted in and out of consciousness.

You didn't know how long it had been, but it was now considerably darker than it had been when you left your home. There was shouting coming from someplace far away, but what startled you most was the sound of rapidly approaching hoofbeats. Down the cobblestone street rode a carriage with blue and silver wings emblazoned on the tarp.

It slowed quickly, the driver saying something into the carriage before pulling the horses to a complete halt, and you realized that whoever was inside was stepping out and rapidly approaching your shaking figure. You scrambled for your letter opener and held it close. The tall man was holding a lantern above him, and in the dim light you could see two swords attached to his hip. You stuck out your letter opener like a weapon, almost hyperventilating from fear.

"Keep your distance!" You shouted, your voice coming out sounding much braver than you felt, "I'm armed!"

The man chuckled a little bit, kneeling and holding the lantern close so it lit up his face. He was blonde, quite young, had rather large eyebrows, and looked friendly, but you were still terrified out of your wits. "You have no reason to be afraid," said the man calmly, "I'm Erwin Smith, Commander of the Survey Corps." He paused, peering at you through the light. "Are you alright?"

Your shaking hands dropped the knife, and you pressed your hands to your face in anguish. "There was a group of people, they attacked my home—" you stumbled over your words, on the verge of tears. It was hardly the time to recall your public speaking professor at the Academy, and yet. You straightened up, swallowing your desperation. "My father is dead, I have no extended family."

"You escaped the mob?" Erwin cut in, looking surprised. "You must understand, this is a complex situation. There are hundreds of rioting usurpers active tonight as part of an organized coup. They are dangerous. Are you sure they are the ones who killed your father?"

"Yes. Yes, that's what Francis told me, a servant of ours. He was killed too—" you paused to take a rattling breath, the cold biting at your throat. Erwin looked at you more carefully now, leaning closer and holding out a hand for you to take. 

"How long have you been out in the cold?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he helped you to your feet. You shivered violently, the cold having stiffened your muscles.

"Hours." You guessed, and you tried to object when Commander Erwin took off his green cape and slung it around your shoulders. He looked at you curiously for a moment, then leaned over to say a few words to the driver of the horses. After a moment, he turned back.

"Come, you should get warm." He said, ushering you toward the carriage.

A few moments ago you might have gone along with this _Commander_ without question. Now you'd returned to your senses. You pulled the cape tightly over your shoulders before warily taking a step back from him. 

"How do I know I can trust this offer? Where are we going?" You asked carefully, your eyes narrowed.

"Back to the Survey Corps headquarters, you need warm clothes and shelter." He paused when he raised the lantern, looking at your newly tailored dress before looking you dead in the eye. "I forgot to ask your name?" He said, and you furrowed your brows at his change in attitude. Not a good start. You looked suspiciously from the carriage to the Commander again, then lifted your chin, recollecting what little dignity you had left. You gave him your name. 

"I see." The Commander said plainly. You watched his expression, seeing a strange look slowly begin to develop on the man's face, gears turning as he looked you up and down one last time. "Come, you need to get warm. You'll be able to leave at your discretion."

You stared at the carriage, unsure of whether it was safe to go with him. Did you have a choice? Your hands were turning blue with the cold, and your knees felt about ready to give out. "I suppose I must." You replied coldly, climbing in and watching cautiously as Erwin followed, sitting across from you. He hung the lantern hastily in the center of the carriage as it began to move.

"You may be staying with the Corps for some time," Erwin said carefully, eyeing you. "It is up to you whether you take us up on the offer. It's only for your safety, of course."

You straightened your shoulders, crossing your arms defensively across your chest as you leaned into the corner of the carriage. _For your safety._ What would usurpers want with you? There were rules for these situations—The King's Advisor's position would go to the next available person, you'd be removed from the line of succession. Unless—

You frowned, eyebrows slowly drawing together as the realization dawned on you. What had Francis said to you? You were your father's _heir_. Dread began to rise in the pit of your stomach as what he meant slowly began to sink in. You lacked the proper education to _become_ the King's Advisor, after all, it wasn't an inheritable position. However, you were old enough to inherit all of your father's wealth, his possessions, and whatever else he owned before his murder.

You had just become, with the crack of a bullet, one of the wealthiest people in all of the Walls. You were suddenly glad Erwin had found you instead of someone else.

Sometime later the carriage ground to a halt, and you heard the horses snorting and stamping their hooves as Erwin picked up the lantern and stepped outside. He held the curtain open for you and indicated for you to step out with a jerk of his head.

"We've arrived."

You stuck your head out of the carriage and carefully stepped down in your heels, suddenly regretting wearing them. The Commander's cape was still draped over your shoulders, and you untied it and handed it back to its owner with a tight-lipped smile, the cold biting at your hands. The horses trotted away with the carriage in tow, and you watched it disappear around the back corner of the stables before you looked up at the giant building before you. A full moon hung high above the turrets of the Scouting Headquarters, and your eyes reflected it, lanternlight flickering in every window.

The castle was much bigger than the drawings you had seen in your books, and it stood nobly before you, a wide path leading to a pair of heavy wooden doors. The low hum of conversation could be heard all the way outside. The Commander began to make his way inside, and you hurried to follow him. The knowledge that there were people inside made your stomach do a somersault, and you desperately tried to fix your hair and straighten out your dress as Erwin held the door open for you.

Much to your relief, the hallway you had entered was nearly empty. The only people around were a couple of older men chatting in front of a conference room, and another man who quickly approached Erwin without sparing you a second glance, falling into stride next to the tall blonde as you followed the two of them down the hall.

"Do we need a room for the guest?" Asked the man, and Erwin said something affirmatively, leaning closer and saying something that sounded suspiciously like _"may be a permanent guest."_ You pressed your lips into a thin line in an attempt to quell your frustration and remained silent. You'd already been enough trouble today, it'd be best if you let Commander Erwin deal with the arrangements.

The three of you veered down another hall, and the sound of voices became much louder as you approached what looked like a cafeteria. You barely had time to be nervous again before the three of you turned into the room.

The change in volume was almost instantaneous. The mess hall was half-full, but the room fell pin-drop silent upon your entry. Each soldier simultaneously bowed their heads and saluted the Commander, who waved them off absentmindedly as he made a beeline to the center of the room. He leaned down to talk to yet another man. You peered around.

Almost as quickly as everyone had gone silent they began to talk again, but you knew the topic of conversation had shifted. You saw the hasty glances the younger scouts sent your way, and the worrisome faces as they whispered amongst themselves. You glanced down at yourself and realized with a start that there was blood on your hands and down the front of your dress, dark and ominous. You tore your eyes from the terrifying picture and turned your gaze back to Erwin and the other man.

He was shorter, and had a head of raven hair with a sharp undercut. He wasn't wearing the green cape Erwin donned but instead wore a necktie and a button-up shirt, and a badge on his left shoulder that you couldn't read from a distance. You saw the Commander gesture toward you, his eyebrows drawn together. Your gaze hardened as the short man turned passively to look at you. You met his eyes for a split second. 

His eyes were intense.

Your mouth went dry.

His gaze lingered on yours for a moment longer before he turned back to Erwin, frowning and shaking his head. You swallowed thickly, keeping your expression as impassive as you could to avoid any more attention than you'd already attracted.

They were treating you like a child. Could you blame them? Commander Erwin found you on the _street_ , covered in blood and nearly half-frozen to death. It was a wonder you were even alive. You chewed the inside of your cheek to keep yourself quiet, looking around the room another time and making eye contact with a young recruit. She waved with a reassuring grin, and you raised your right hand halfheartedly, smiling faintly before Erwin placed a hand on your shoulder. "Come, I'll show you to your room."

You followed the Commander back through the open doors, very glad to be out of the spotlight as you turned down an empty hallway. After a short walk, Erwin pulled a key out from his pocket and unlocked a door, handing you the key and standing back as you stepped into the room. 

The key was cold and heavy in your hand as you fidgeted with it, turning it over and over as you swept your gaze over the modest room. There was a small, twin-sized bed in the corner, a washbasin, a little window, and a dresser.

"Please ask for me if you need anything. I'll have someone leave you some clothes before the morning." Erwin paused as though considering saying something else. "Get some rest," he suggested, turning down the hallway without so much as another word. 

You didn't even have time to say thank you before he had disappeared around a corner, and you looked down at the key in your hand as you closed your door. A sudden wave of nausea washed over you, and you leaned against the closed door with a sniffle. Hot tears pooled in your eyes against your will. You supposed it was better that it was hitting you now, not in front of all of those people.

The dresser was bare, and you placed the key on top of it. At home your dresser was decorated with knickknacks, assorted hand-me-downs and family heirlooms. You reached up and grasped the necklace around your neck, glad for at least one thing from home.

Your knees suddenly felt weak. You unclasped the necklace and set it gently down on the dresser neck to your key, then stumbled to the bed and collapsed into a heap.

The tears came easily.

The sleep did not.


	2. Five A.M. Adventures: Meet Hange Zöe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it begins! beware that this work will have a very slow start, but hopefully it’ll be well worth the wait! please let me know if you find any errors, and leave feedback in the comments :) as always, if you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading!

You woke to a faint rustling at your window.

It was still dark outside, but you could see through the drapes the sun peeking over the horizon, straining to rise over the clouds. With a low groan you dropped your head back to your pillow and took a deep breath, rolling out your shoulders. You tried to gauge the time. It couldn't have been much later than five in the morning.

You sat up, your dress bunched up around your legs and your hair a tangled mess in the back. Even with the sunlight filtering in through the window the room was dark, and you stood up and stumbled blindly over to your dresser to pick up a lantern.

Fingers fumbling in the dark, you struck a match and set the lantern ablaze, peering through the darkness. The orange glow illuminated the small room, and you let your eyes adjust for a moment.

In your bleary stupor last night you had forgotten to pull down the blankets to your bed, and you had slept on top of them instead. Your back ached as you reached down to straighten out your dress, and your head pulsed when you stood up straight. You were an absolute mess.

Rubbing your head groggily, you peered into the mirror over the dresser and grimaced at your reflection—not only did you feel like a mess, but you looked like a mess too. Wonderful. If only you could find the hot water valve, at least you'd look a little bit better. Or at least not like you were on the verge of death. 

You found the water pipe and splashed hot water on your face, then threaded your hands through your hair in an attempt to tame it. The mirror was grimy, and you picked up a folded rag and wiped at the mirror with it, pausing to look at your reflection again. The girl staring back at you startled you, her eyes dull and lifeless. 

The memories from the night before flooded your head in quick succession—Francis's bloody face, followed by Erwin crouching in front of you with a lantern, and the steady gaze of the stoic, dark haired man in the mess hall. You shivered, the hot water suddenly feeling cold against your skin. You thought of your mother. You pushed that thought far, far away. Now wasn't the time.

The lantern cast an orange glow over everything. Water dripped from your chin into the washbasin as you stared at yourself blankly. A long time passed before your stomach made a noise that sounded strangely like a rhino dying of starvation. It had been nearly 24 hours since you’d last eaten, you realized. _The last time you saw your father alive,_ you thought to yourself, and you hurriedly squashed that thought. You picked up the key Erwin had given you.

You had been so preoccupied with...well, with everything, that you hadn't remembered to eat. To be honest, you weren't sure if you could keep anything down in the state you were in. Running from a mob of usurpers, getting picked up and driven away from your life by a mysterious, handsome man, being handed a key and sent to bed. It was all so much, so fast. You pressed your palm to your forehead and scrunched your nose up, taking a deep breath in. It would be wise to figure out where you could get some food without bothering anybody.

You knew how to get to the mess hall—at least, you vaguely remembered Erwin leading you from there to your room the night before. Or...did you remember? _Was it worth it to get lost, day one?_ you thought to yourself. Lost in thought, you were startled by a sharp knocking at your door.

For a moment you thought you’d imagined it, and you stared at the door in surprise before the knocks came again. Who would be up this early, let alone at your door? Taking a few cautious steps forward, you opened your door—only to find your face a mere two inches from... _someone_ , grinning like a madwoman over her giant, wide-rimmed spectacles.

You saw her eyes widen and she grabbed your shoulders, her smile getting somehow wider.

"She's awake!"

"Wha—!" You stumbled backwards in confusion, then tripped over the hem of your dress and flung your arms out to gain purchase, first grabbing the doorframe and then snatching up the front of the lady's shirt and yanking her down with you back through the door and back into your room as you fell. 

The two of you landed in a heap, and you scrabbled to push the stranger off of you, rolling unceremoniously over and slamming into the wall. The lantern had fallen over and been extinguished in the scramble, and you reached up blindly for the door handle, hauling yourself to your knees.

The mysterious ambusher laughed maniacally as she got to her feet, and you stumbled out into the hallway with wide eyes as you caught your breath. "Who...who _are_ you?" You gasped out, rubbing your eyes with the ball of your hand and squinting through the dark. The lady reached down and picked up your lantern, re-lighting it with a match she found in her back pocket. The light illuminated her face.

She was tall, with wide-rimmed goggles pushed up onto her forehead and auburn hair pulled into a messy ponytail. The green cape was familiar, the survey corps logo emblazoned on the back. Her hair fell haphazardly into her eyes, which were hidden by a large pair of stainless steel glasses.

The lady grinned and held out her hand for a handshake, which you begrudgingly took. 

"Squad leader Hange Zöe, scientist of the Survey Corps," Hange said as she continuously shook your hand, finally releasing it with a grin as she put her hands on her hips. You couldn't help but feel the corners of your mouth turn up a bit. She seemed friendly.

You gave her your name with a kind smile, trying to keep your voice down since it was early and the hallway was lined with rooms like yours. You vaguely wondered if Hange's room was the one next to yours, or if it was somewhere nearby. "It's a pleasure to meet you," you said warmly, although your hopes faltered a bit as you remembered why you were here in the first place. "So," you added with a weak smile, "am I being kicked out?"

Hange looked at you with a funny smile, one eyebrow raised mischievously. “Of course not," she said, "you only just got here. Past midnight. You slept about—" she held up a hand and looked up to the ceiling with pursed lips, counting on her fingers, "four hours."

"Four hours?" You asked, rubbing the sides of your skull. No wonder your head was pulsing so badly. You needed water and food if you didn't want to pass out from exhaustion.

Your stomach took the liberty of making another noise, and you laughed sheepishly. "You wouldn't happen to know where the mess hall is?" You asked, then immediately regretted the question. Of course she knew—she _lived_ here. You fought down your embarrassment. Impeccable first impression. You suddenly wished you had talked a bit more to the birds.

"Of course I do. You haven't eaten for a day." Hange said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "That's where you were going when you came out of your room, right?"

"Well, yes. But how did you—"

"Exactly. Commander Erwin mentioned your arrival, and I wanted to be the first to welcome you," Hange replied, cutting you off.

You looked at her strangely, blinking a few times. "I see. That's very kind of you, but I certainly don't want to be a bother. It's very early—would you not rather be sleeping?"

Hange's smile softened a bit as she took a step into the hallway and adjusted her glasses. "My research requires me to be up early either way. You've had a difficult few hours, and these walls are a breeding ground for rumors. Nobody ought to face it alone."

You were taken aback by that. To be perfectly honest, you weren't sure if anyone had ever done something like that for you. Granted, you had approximately two friends, one of whom was your father. A smiled worked its way onto your face. "Oh," you replied, glad you had run into Hange before anyone else, "thank you. I'm glad for the company."

"Don't mention it. I love your dress—what's it made of?"

"Satin? I'm not sure. Do you want it?"

Hange's eyes lit up, "do I _want_ your _dress_?" she exclaimed, examining the fabric with wide eyes. The two of you started down the hall, and you fell into step beside her. You were barefoot, you realized, having forgotten your (dreadfully uncomfortable) heels lying by the side of your bed.

"I don't want it, I'd much rather wear pants. I like your outfit," you admitted, gesturing to Hange's boots and pants and button-up top. You suddenly wished you had kept the muddy riding pants Francis had stolen for you.

A few moments went by as Hange led you through the castle. "You know," she suddenly said, "I wouldn't want you to run into a certain Captain Levi by yourself. I'm not sure you've met yet—he's quite the early riser. Often out and about in the mornings. Wouldn't want that being your first encounter," she chuckled to herself, rounding a corner.

"Levi, you say? I take it he often wakes up on the wrong side of the bed?" You asked, taking a few quick steps to catch up to her. She tapped her finger to her lips with a grin. 

"I can say his name, _you_ can't. If he catches you addressing him without his title you'll probably be skinned alive," said Hange ominously, and you drew your eyebrows together as the two of you turned another sharp corner. Skinned. Goodness. You sincerely hoped you never had to run into Le—, the _Captain,_ ever.

"Why don't _you_ call him Captain?" You asked, and Hange barked out a laugh, leaning close and narrowing her eyes over her grin.

"Because I'm his only friend."

You couldn't help but snicker at that, covering your mouth with your hand as you followed Hange into the mess hall.

The giant windows were still dark, but you could see light filtering over the turrets on the far side of the castle, meaning that daybreak was approaching. You wondered when people usually started to get up for breakfast as Hange took her lantern and set it on a table, looking around in the low light.

There were about a hundred chairs around multiple long tables, and one table up near the front of the hall that you assumed was for people like Erwin, Levi, and Hange herself. The sound of of a steaming kettle drifted in from the kitchens as Hange rummaged around behind a counter. You felt your stomach groan in anticipation, and the more you thought about eating the more you began to realize that you were running on fumes.

The sound of the kettle intrigued you. Perhaps someone else was also awake, making tea? You left your lantern on the counter and turned to join Hange in the kitchens, then proceeded to run headlong into a shadowy figure, stumbling backwards and nearly tripping over a chair.

"Good God," you muttered as you straightened up, and a deep, rumbling voice spoke.

"Hange, did you wake her up just so you would have an alibi to get food?" Said the voice. You picked up the lantern from behind you and held it out in front—where had you heard that voice before? You couldn't seem to put a finger on—oh. Oh _no_. 

The man wasn't decked out in his uniform now, instead wearing a loose white shirt and brown leather pants, the straps for the 3DMG missing. He had seemed older when you saw him briefly last night, but with the lantern in his face it was clear he couldn't have been much older than you, 29 or so. No tie. No boots.

It was the man from the night before, the one who had spoken to Commander Erwin. His eyes were darker in the low light, and you steeled your expression, feeling your mouth go dry the same way it had the day before. Strange.

You must've looked like an idiot still holding the lantern meekly out in front of you, your mouth slightly ajar. You returned to your senses. "She didn't wake me up," you replied quickly, and the man looked bleakly at you before turning to Hange with a look akin to disgust on his face. Very nice first impression. You sure knew how to dazzle the men.

"Hange, you heard the Commander." He started, his focus shifted away from you and now on the squad leader—who was currently discreetly stuffing biscuits into her mouth. "She's supposed to remain under close watch," the man continued, his arms crossed against his chest as he stared Hange down. You tore your eyes back to her with a bit more difficulty than you were comfortable with.

"And I'm her bodyguard," Hange said with a grin, tossing you an apple, which you deftly caught with your right hand. The man seemed to glance at you in irritation before looking back at Hange with one eyebrow only slightly raised. Hange let out an exasperated sigh. "Quit with that look, Levi, our guest is safe with me. It's not like she's going to run off," Hange said sarcastically. You nodded in accordance, then froze with the apple halfway raised to your mouth. What did she say?

_Levi._

That's what she said. _Captain_ Levi.

You felt like throwing up. How had you not put two and two together earlier on? This was humanity's strongest soldier. Which other Captain could she possibly have been talking about? Which _other_ Levi? Embarrassment rose in your stomach—how many bad first impressions had you made in the few hours you'd been here? 

You were staring, you realized, and you cleared your throat, steadying yourself. "You're Captain Levi" you said politely, and Levi glanced back to you expectantly. "My apologies. It's an honor to meet you."

Levi gave you an unimpressed look, like he'd rather be anywhere else. For a moment his eyes shifted down to your dress, then he met your gaze once more. "The honor's mine," he replied impassively, a twinge of sarcasm lacing his tone. Your mood soured.

All the stories you'd ever heard about the Captain of the Survey Corps, all of the hushed praise from women your age at military balls and in tailor fitting rooms, all to discover that he had an attitude problem? What a pity.

"Charmed," you said with a tight smile.

Levi didn't reply to that, turning to Hange like you weren't even there. "Get her a uniform, she's been wearing that since yesterday. It's covered in blood." His gaze briefly flit back to you one last time before he turned and receded down the hallway.

You watched him stalk off with furrowed eyebrows, turning back to Hange with one brow raised once the Captain was out of sight.

"You were right. I'm glad I didn't run into him first," you joked halfheartedly, and Hange rolled her eyes behind her shining spectacles, taking a large bite out of her apple. She handed you a biscuit, which you gratefully took.

"He likes things his way—a micromanager, if you will." She joked, and you huffed out a laugh, sitting on the table dangling your legs over the edge. At home you'd have to sit in a straight-backed chair, legs together, hands folded neatly across your lap. The lingering smile faded from your lips, and any thought of the snarky Captain was pushed from your mind as you were swiftly reminded of your circumstances. At _home_. You suddenly wished you had your father reminding you of your posture.

Soldiers trickled into the mess hall now, a few smiling at you, but most only sparing you a look before going about their daily routine. You were grateful for their nonchalance. Hange broke the silence with a stretch as she slid down from on top of the table. "All jokes aside, you do need something less..." she indicated to your dress, raising an eyebrow, "bloody."

"That might be a good idea," you replied solemnly, watching as a green recruit did a double take at the dried blood patterning your gown, his face going gaunt. You grimaced.

Hange placed her hands on her hips and jerked her head in the direction of the hall. "Come on, I'll Petra has extras in your size. As beautiful as that dress is, it's lacy in places where lace is really itchy," she joked.

You stepped down, peering at the lace fringes that lined your sleeves as you followed Hange down the hall. You supposed she was right. You must've gotten accustomed to uncomfortable clothes.

"I do hope Petra's friendlier than your Captain," you quipped, falling into stride next to Hange.

"Not to worry. She's a member of Levi's squad. Really nice. You remind me of her—a little more headstrong, though. Petra wouldn't hurt a fly," Hange replied. You giggled a little, raising an eyebrow at her as the two of you exited the mess hall.

"Wouldn’t hurt a fly? Doesn’t she kill _titans_?” You asked playfully, and Hange barked out a laugh, turning to you with a grin. 

“She’s killed more titans than _I_ have, and she _still_ calls me when there’s a spider in her room,” she whispered, and you laughed openly at that as the two of you made your way down another hallway lined by bedrooms. 

“I’m flattered you think I’m headstrong,” you mused, smiling, "but you've only known me for an hour. What gives you that impression?"

Hange shrugged, stopping at a door and knocking three times. "Just my killer instinct talking," she said with a wink, "hey Petra! I need some extra clothes."

There came a shuffling sound from inside the room, and a high pitched "coming!" before the door swung open, revealing a girl about your height with strawberry blonde hair, a hairbrush stuck in her hair, and groggy eyes as she slowly focused on you.

She gasped, her eyes going wide as she grabbed your hands with a huge smile. "Ah, it's our guest! Welcome to the Legion. I'm Petra Ral, what's your name? Your dress is gorgeous, the color really suits you. Have you had anything to eat?" She led you into the room, and you opened your mouth to reply to the first of her questions but were cut off when Petra rolled her eyes with a smile. "Oh, that's silly. Of course you ate. You're with squad leader Hange!"

"Hey!" Hange said, seeming a bit disgruntled.

"Only a joke, Squad Leader."

Petra placed a chair before you and ushered you to sit, turning and rummaging through a closet and pulling out a uniform that looked just like hers. "It's a good thing we're the same size, or it would've taken forever for the seamstresses to make a new uniform. Supplies are low now as it is." She handed you a button up shirt, loose pants, then pulled out a set of straps that went around your legs. "Here, let me help you get out of that dress."

You were completely blown away by the immediate hospitality, and as Petra untied your corset from the back you took a moment to look around her room. The bed was neatly made, and a half-written letter lay open on her desk. A few assorted knickknacks lined her dresser, one of which was an illustration of a group of five people. 

The dress fell slack around your shoulders, and you shrugged your way out of it and let it fall to the floor in a heap. The pants went on, and you buttoned up the shirt, pulling your hair out from under the collar and picking up the jacket Petra had handed to you. Your gaze lingered on the blue and silver survey corps insignia that was patched into the left shoulder.

_"Who? Francis, who?"_

_His eyes were slits, blood running down his neck as he seemed to use every last drop of energy to rasp out the words._

_"The Survey corps."_

"Hey!"

You inhaled sharply, looking up abruptly from the logo on the jacket and seeing Petra and Hange watching you questioningly. "Are you alright?"

You cleared your throat, setting the jacket down and smiling weakly, "yes, of course—I'm fine."

"If you're sure—here, let me show you which way the straps go around your legs."

You let Petra fit the straps to your torso and legs, and you caught a glimpse of yourself in her mirror and were taken aback. It was jarring seeing yourself dressed this way, and for a moment you almost didn't recognize yourself.

"Perfect," said Petra, pulling you from your thoughts, "you look just like one of us," she beamed, setting your folded dress down on her bed. "All you need now is the 3DMG."

You paused, then turned and looked questioningly between Petra and Hange. “You know, I've read a lot about your gear. It's such an incredibly crafted piece of machinery," then, carefully you pressed further, not wanting to push your luck so soon, "do you think there'd be any way I could try it?" Hange suddenly looked sheepish, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Commander Erwin has you on specific lockdown orders. Training grounds and the 3DMG are off-bounds for you. Can't have you hurting yourself while in our care," Hange explained, rolling her eyes at the last part. "Although frankly, the training course isn't _that_ dangerous, and we haven't lost a cadet in over six years, so—" 

Hange was unceremoniously cut off as Petra gave her a poignant look. "Unfortunately, you can't use it. Too risky," Hange finished with an apologetic look. Your face fell a bit and she softened, patting your shoulder fondly. "Cheer up, I bet we could at least sneak you down there to watch the cadets. Maybe you could fly around in the hangar, promise I won't tell." She grinned, crossing her fingers. 

"Oh, I don't know," said Petra, looking guilty, "I wouldn't want to upset the Commander. What if the Captain finds out?" She said, looking even more terrified at the mere prospect. Hange scoffed, waving her hand nonchalantly.

"Captain shmaptain, he knows how to keep a secret. Besides, what he doesn't know won't kill him, right?"

...

"Squad Leader, I don't understand how you always manage to drag me into your antics like this," Petra muttered. "You'll get me kicked from the Scouts one day!"

You were crouched behind a row of gas supply tanks, watching a new batch of cadets get bossed around by Keith Shadis, head of the 101st training corps, as they started up their maneuver gear and headed out onto the course. 

The first thing you'd noticed was that the 3DMG looked a lot heavier in person than in your books. Some of the cadets moved clunkily along, tripping over the wires and fumbling with the handles, but others soared through the air like it was second-nature. It looked like magic. You wondered how they achieved such smooth motion with the gas mechanism—surely there was lag time in between the pistons firing and the grappling function?

"Stay low! If you get caught we're all dead meat," Hange said, although she was giggling and rocking back and forth on her feet as she said so. She obviously wasn't afraid of what the Captain would do to her if she was caught, but poor Petra was shaking in her boots at the slightest noise, checking to her left and right constantly.

Three more cadets lifted off on the training course, leaving only three left, chatting amongst themselves as they waited for their signal to depart. You were so busy trying to listen in on their conversation that you didn't see Shadis look over.

"Hey!"

You froze, eyes wide as saucers as the man stalked over in your general direction, pointing at something just behind you. "Squad Leader Zöe, your squad doesn't train until later!" You let out a giant huff of air, slowly sinking down and pressing your body against the gas tanks in fear. You met Petra's gaze as she grimaced nervously down at you, her face pale. 

Hange laughed, taking a few steps forward and placing her hands on her hips. "Just wanted to keep an eye on the newbies, Shadis. We all know how they are during training." She winked, though it looked her eye spasmed, and the two of them walked off in the opposite direction, chatting about their training schedules as the last three cadets took off.

You awkwardly shuffled over to the other side of the hangar and peered through the doors, straining to see the tiny figures flying back and forth on the course as they cut down the fake titan cutouts that had been planted for their training exercises. One of them crashed headfirst into a tree and tumbled to the ground, although after a few seconds they emerged from the canopy once more and continued on. Shadis and Hange had left the building now as well, probably discussing formations, and Petra rushed over to you, smiling in relief.

"That was too close! We should get you back, Squad Levi will be training soon, so I need to get my gear and—"

"Hey, Petra!"

Petra froze with wide eyes, then whirled around and attempted to block you from view, her arms thrown out wide like she was about to give someone a hug. You peered over her shoulder, seeing three figures approaching. _Shit,_ you thought, _one of them looked awfully familiar._

"Gunther, Oluo, Eld, you're out early?" Petra said nonchalantly, and you grimaced when you heard the last name. This was just your luck. There were hundreds of people in the Survey Corps, and you had to run into one who knew you? You let out a huff of air, looking away and remembering vividly the day in the town, how you had tripped over the fence post and Eld had warned you to return home. You swallowed thickly.

At this point, Petra realized it was pointless to try and hide you, and you stepped out from behind her, a steely expression on your face. The three other members of Petra's squad approached. 

"Petra breaking the rules? I would have never guessed," one of the two unknown scouts joked, feigning surprise as Petra gave him an indignant look.

"It wasn't me!" She insisted, "Squad Leader Zöe was here, and—"

Eld gave you a closer look, scanning you up and down before a look of recognition passed over his face. 

"It's _you_."


	3. Non-traditional Family Dinners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had so much fun writing this chapter, especially the dialogue bits! i try to keep everyone in-character, so please let me know how I can improve :) 
> 
> as always, thank you for reading, and i’m always looking for feedback

"It's _you_ ," Eld said, looking at you uncertainly.

You felt your mouth become dry. _What luck. Of all of the people, and all of the times..._

"I didn't expect to see you here,” you replied as politely as you could muster. The sight of Eld in full uniform was making your stomach turn ominously for reasons unbeknownst to you, and you wished the feeling would go away. 

"You two know each other?" Petra asked curiously, looking between you and Eld as she placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. You almost didn't recognize her question. Until that moment you had been fine, but the sight of Eld seemed to jerk you back to the previous night. Gruesome images flashed across your mind, and you suddenly wished you had stayed inside. Your expression darkened considerably.

"...Yes," Eld started, "We met in Mitras just yesterday." There was a lengthy pause in which you spared Petra a grim look. "Although, I was unaware you were our guest." Eld finished, looking uncertain.

You felt a painful tightness in your throat, but you steadied yourself. You’d kept it together this long, and it wouldn’t be becoming of you to lose your composure now. Later, when you were alone, you could grieve openly. In front of others was certainly not the time. 

"I’m sorry," you managed to get out, smiling faintly, "for hiding my identity. Perhaps things would have gone differently had I returned home at your warning." There was another long stretch of silence before you spoke up again. "Although it may not have done any good," you added softly, as though it were an afterthought. Eld looked away.

There was nothing more he could say. He did everything he could have done given the circumstances. His job was to be stationed in Mitras—nothing more, nothing less. It was out of his way to warn you at all. How could he have forseen what would've happened behind closed doors in your home? That wasn't the fault of anyone but yourself. 

_No,_ you mentally chastised yourself. _Not your fault._ What could you have done differently? It was enough that you escaped at all.

"No need for that," Eld replied deftly, then after a pause, "I'm very sorry for your loss."

Petra immediately interjected at this, seeing how uncomfortable you’d become. "We ought to be going back inside now anyway—we can't have the Captain seeing her here, right? _Come on_ —"

Petra waved a quick goodbye to Eld, Oluo, and Gunther, all of whom watched as you snuck back into the castle through the stable doors trailed by Petra, who shouted a quick "I'll be back before training!" before following you into the bunks hurriedly.

Almost immediately after shutting the door to your room, Petra turned to you with a grim look on her face. "I didn't realize Eld was part of the team called to the capital," she said gently, and you sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of your nose and pulling out your desk chair to take a seat. 

"I don't know why I reacted like that," you said apologetically, and you felt Petra put both of her hands on your shoulders. You looked up solemnly. She smiled at you.

"I understand grief. You're dealing with it better than some _soldiers_ I know would," Petra said with a wry smile, and you huffed out a small laugh as she squeezed your shoulders.

"Squad Leader Hange said something similar. It seems my reputation precedes me," you said mirthlessly, looking down at your own hands with pinched brows. Petra's hands fell from your shoulders, and she wrung them.

"You're allowed to be upset," she said kindly, "but you can't take the blame for things that are out of your control." You watched her eyebrows draw together slightly, her eyes distant. "It'll tear you up inside," she added quietly.

Although she was no older than you, many of Petra's years were spent with the Corps—she'd seen more death than you could possibly imagine, and had chips on both of her shoulders. If anyone knew grief like an old friend, it was Petra Ral. You wondered how many dead soldiers she carried with her.

Perhaps that was why she and Hange were so quick to recognize and point out your grief—they were well-acquainted with the feeling.

You absently swiped at your face, then smiled weakly at her. "Thank you, Petra."

Petra smiled back at you, the warmth returning to her eyes as she stood from your bed, "Of course. We have training now, but if you'd like, you can meet me in the mess hall for dinner. You can also meet Oluo and Gunther—properly this time." She paused when she saw the look of apprehension briefly cross your face. "They're nicer than they look, really.”

”Could’ve fooled me,” you joked halfheartedly, rising to your feet as well.

”If it makes you feel any better, Oluo’s the biggest airhead I know. His kill count just barely makes up for it,” Petra said with a playful smile, making for your door. “I’ll see you for dinner!”

You saw Petra out of your room, then shut the door and took a deep breath. You needed to compose yourself before you met the rest of her squad—again.

Bouncing up and down on the heels of your boots, you shook out the nervous energy in your hands and arms. You'd met plenty of important people before, and this was no different. This time, though, the stakes weren't quite so high. These weren't rich men who had a hand in determining your future. These weren't suitors who wanted to marry into wealth and take advantage of your station. These weren't officials who worked with your father. These were the scouts. Petra was a _friend._

A friend. A wave of calm washed over you. Friend was a somewhat foreign word to you. You'd only just met Petra, but she and Squad Leader Hange were as close as you'd ever really gotten to friendship. At the very least they seemed to care, and you decided that was better than nothing at all. If anything good had come out of this, at least you met them.

Your bed springs creaked and groaned as you sat down on the edge, threading your fingers through the hair at the base of your scalp and sighing. The room felt stuffy and too still, the walls too close, the space too small. You pressed your palms against your eyelids and scrunched up your nose, forcing a sudden wave of nausea down. Anxiety wasn’t a foreign feeling to you, but never had you dealt with something that felt quite as horrible as this. It took a few moments for the nausea to settle.

There was a small window between your dresser and the hot water tap, and you got up to open it, leaning against the windowsill and staring longingly out at the open expanse of green. You could see the training course and the stables, but not Petra or the rest of her squad. Perhaps the more advanced squads trained elsewhere.

A bird landed on the sill, and you smiled at it for a moment before it took off. You watched it fly toward the trees until it disappeared, and you absentmindedly wished you could do the same. Flying off and disappearing seemed like a decent option right now.

You had a few hours to kill before dinner, and the exhaustion began to kick in once again as sleep deprivation reared its ugly head. Yet as much as you wanted to sleep, you couldn't seem to stop your mind from racing.

There was much to think about—now that you'd gotten a moment to yourself you were painfully aware of just how precarious your situation truly was. You were a temporary guest of the military, and although you wanted desperately to give yourself a moment to rest you knew at some point you'd have to begin picking up the pieces of your life. This bedroom wasn't permanent. Petra and Hange were not permanent.

But neither was the pain. You inhaled deeply, reminding yourself that it hadn't even been a full day since you'd arrived. Pushing your growing worry aside, you kicked your boots off and pulled back the covers before rolling into the bed, springs creaking for a moment before all was still again.

The window was open, and the faint sound of birds and wind lulled you back to sleep. 

...

You woke with a start, your teeth clenched so hard your jaw was starting to ache. It was still light out, and voices filtered in through your window from the training grounds below. 

It took you a moment to get adjusted, and you blinked slowly up at the ceiling, unclenching your jaw and rubbing the side of your face sleepily. The covers were bunched up and twisted, and you had broken out into a cold sweat.

As you came to your senses, you slowly sat yourself up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. 

Tense jaw, cold sweat—you must've had a nightmare. You furrowed your brow, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and resting your elbows on your knees. That was strange...you rarely dreamed, let alone had nightmares.

You closed your eyes and tried to remember what you had dreamt, but nothing came to you. The dream, whatever it had been about, was gone, slipping through your fingers like sand in an hourglass. A breath you didn’t even realize you had been holding escaped from your lips. 

The anxiety settled low in your stomach, and you shook your head to clear your mind, standing up and stretching for a moment before hobbling over to the water tap. Cold water spurted from the faucet, and you splashed it onto your face to wake yourself up. Although you couldn't have slept more than a few hours, you felt much better than you did earlier. Still groggy, but less bone-tired. You splashed cold water over your face again and turned off the tap.

You vaguely wondered when the corps usually ate dinner, and if you ought to head to the mess hall to meet Petra—you didn't want to keep her waiting. Petra’s spare boots were lying where you left them at the foot of your bed, and you stepped back into them, having to push your feet down a bit to get them to fit.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in your mirror and paused. Your shirt was wrinkled, your hair was a mess, and there were deep bags under your eyes. You barely recognized yourself. Carefully, you smoothed your shirt out out with your hands, tucking it under your belt.

The uniform was comfortable, for sure, but you suddenly felt nostalgic for your dresses. _Imagine actually wanting to wear a dress,_ you thought absently to yourself, staring at your reflection sadly.

A long moment passed, and you pulled yourself back together, reaching for the door and opening it. You paused in the doorway, looking back at yourself in the mirror once more before exiting the room, the door closing behind you.

The corridors were silent, but you could hear a steady stream of conversation from the dining hall. It was comforting, hearing people. You were used to silence. It wasn't that you never wanted to speak with others, you oftentimes simply weren't given the chance to properly build relationships. Speak only when spoken to, and only when necessary. It would take years to unlearn that creed.

Like clockwork, your stomach began to turn, and you stopped suddenly in the hallway. _Great,_ you're finally given the chance to talk to people and you get cold feet. The mess hall was just around the corner, you could hear the din of conversation spilling into the hallway from the doorway—

And to be fair, you weren't quite sure if you wanted to go in.

Eld was in there. It was likely the Commander and the Captain were, as well. You didn't particularly like any of them, and none seemed especially welcoming. Petra _asked_ you to come, but part of you wondered whether she was trying to be polite. It wouldn't be the first time someone had feigned hospitality to win favors.

You rubbed your eyelids with the palms of your hands and lightly smacked the sides of your face. You were overthinking this. It was _dinner_. Regardless, you were going to have to eat something either way.

Two deep breaths, then you stepped into the room. You noticed almost immediately that it was much fuller than the night before. This must be almost all of the scouts—it was late when you were brought to the compound last night, and the people you had seen were probably on night watch or out for a midnight snack.

You squinted to find Petra, your gaze landing on the tables near the front you had seen that morning with Hange. First you saw the squad leader herself, then the back of Commander Erwin's head, then your gaze finally landed on Petra. She waved you over with a smile.

You couldn't help but smile in response, making your way over to her table and weaving through groups of cadets and veteran soldiers. There was a seat next to Petra across from Hange, who was talking animatedly to who you assumed was another member of Squad Levi, a man with a buzzcut who looked like he'd rather be scrubbing the floor. 

"I'm glad you came. Here, sit!" Petra said with a grin, and you took your seat gratefully, folding your hands and smiling over at Hange before turning back to Petra.

"Thank you Petra, this was really nice of yo—" before you had the chance to finish your sentence, Hange slid a full plate of food across the table, then tossed you a chicken leg. 

"You must be starving, did you even eat lunch? Come on—world's best food, right here!" Hange said, right before taking a huge bite out of her own chicken leg. The man she'd been talking to breathed a sigh of relief next to her, seemingly glad she had stopped talking his ear off. He was gruff looking, with a short crop of dark brown hair. He caught the surprised look on your face and smiled amusedly.

"Oh—you didn't have to get all of this for me!" You began, looking down at the way-too-full plate in front of you.

"Survey Corps' hospitality!" Hange replied, her mouth full. You shook your head and laughed a bit, taking a bite of your food. The chicken was beyond dry, and you tried your best to look like you were enjoying it, flashing Hange a huge grin as you swallowed. 

"...Tasty!" You choked out, and the dark-haired scout pretended not to see, covering his mouth with his hand and looking away with a stifled smile.

"Now that you're here, you can properly meet the rest of us," said Petra with a smile, pointing with her fork to the soldier next to Hange. "Gunther, meet our guest. Oluo—" Petra hit Oluo on the head with her fork "be _nice_."

" _Ow_!" Oluo complained, rubbing his head with a frown. "Quit it, brat!" He snapped at Petra, picking up his own fork and waving it at her. He then looked over at you, giving you a funny look that you assumed was supposed to be a smirk. "Nice to meet you. Oluo Bozado. I'm sure you've heard of my incredible solo kill count." He flashed a self-important grin, and you raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Petra with a small smile.

"I haven't! Do tell!" You said, feigning interest, and Petra lightly smacked your shoulder.

"Don't encourage him!" Petra replied, shaking her head good-humoredly, "if his head gets any bigger, it'll explode."

Gunther smiled over at you, reaching out his hand for you to shake. "Nice to meet you as well. I'm sure you _haven't_ heard of my incredible solo kill count," he joked, looking pointedly at Oluo. You shook his hand with a grin, feeling wildly relieved that Petra's squad was friendly. 

"It's nice to meet you both. Thank you for letting me eat with you," you said, and Gunther shook his head.

"Of course. A friend of Petra's is a friend of ours." 

There was a lull in conversation as everyone continued eating, and Eld finally appeared, looking half-asleep as he sat down in the seat across from Petra. 

"Jeez, what happened to you?" Oluo scoffed, raising an eyebrow over at Eld, which was met with an indignant " _Oluo_!" from Petra. 

"Fell asleep." Eld groaned, rubbing his face and solemnly taking a bite of his food.

"Third time this week." Gunther said, although he didn't sound surprised. "Captain Levi working you too hard?" 

Eld yawned again. "Just a lot of paperwork," he grumbled.

Seeing Eld now, you felt much better prepared. It was different in a relaxed setting, and he seemed more at ease now, as wel. Seeing him in the hangar was a surprise that you were ill-prepared to face. He smiled politely at you, and you returned the gesture.

"If it were me, I'd tell the old man to do his paperwork _himself_!" Oluo said, thumping his fist against his chest. "He can't boss _me_ around!"

"Who can't boss you around?"

Oluo whipped his head around, his face going paler than fine china at the sight of the Captain leaning over him, resting his hand on the table. Petra nearly looked as terrified as Oluo did, and she pretended to be incredibly interested in her plate of food as Gunther covered his mouth to hide a suppressed smile.

"—Ah! Nobody, Captain, did I say can't? I meant _can._ You _can_ boss me around! Absolutely. You're the Captain—" Oluo rambled, sweat beading on his brow as he stumbled over his words. You pressed your lips together in an effort not to laugh, and Levi glanced over at you for a moment before looking back down at his soldier.

"That's what I thought," Levi said simply, taking his seat in between Commander Erwin and Eld, who were both exceptionally quiet. He leaned over to the Commander and said something to him quietly, and Erwin nodded in assent, glancing up at you and then back to Levi before saying something else.

Anything that was left of a smile faded from your face, and you looked down at your food solemnly, having lost your appetite. 

You wondered vaguely if they were discussing when you'd leave the compound. Surely the Corps' hospitality wasn't endless, and you were swiftly reminded that you were a conditional guest within these walls. You'd need to find somewhere else to go. 

Lost in thought, you almost didn't notice when Petra leaned over to you, using her spoon to point discreetly over at the Captain. "I'm not sure if you've met him—that's our Captain. I'd introduce you, but...he looks a bit busy."

"I've met him," you whispered, and Petra cocked an eyebrow at you questioningly. "Hange...uh, introduced us this morning. He's...charming," you said as politely as you could, and Petra smiled sympathetically. 

"The Captain can be harsh, but he means well! He cares about all of us, even if he doesn't show it often," Petra said with a smile. “Don’t get on his bad side, though, or he'll make you clean the barracks. Oluo has to do that a lot, as I'm sure you can guess," she joked quietly with a grin, and you snickered, giving Oluo a sidelong glance. 

"Oi, what are you two talking about?" Oluo sneered, although he still looked embarrassed from his near-death run-in with the Captain. You and Petra shared a glance and laughed.

"Hey, you gonna eat that?" Hange asked, pointing to the other chicken leg on your plate, and you pushed the plate over to her side of the table as Oluo grumbled, stabbing a potato with his fork violently.

"All yours."

" _Yes_ , seconds!" Hange took a bite out of your chicken leg, chewed for a moment, then her eyebrows shot up underneath her glasses, "By the way, if you wanna clean the blood out of that dress of yours, I'm working on a new cleaning solution. I call it _Titan-Clean!_ It works on Titan blood, so it'll probably work on normal stains, too."

From two seats down came the Captain's voice. "Hange, what did we say about testing your inventions on innocent bystanders?" He said sternly, without even looking up. "Find somebody else to torture." 

"It's alright, Captain, I don't mind if the dress gets ruined in the process," you replied, "think of it as a donation for research purposes."

Levi looked at you passively for a moment before shrugging imperceptibly and returning to his dinner.

"Yes! I think we'll get along _quite_ well, you and I. You can be my lab assistant," said Hange, winking.

"Don't push it," Levi grumbled, and Hange grinned over at you. For a moment you thought about your dress—and the _blood_ —but you pushed that aside, instead listening to Hange crack a horrible knock-knock joke. 

This was your first dinner with the Corps, but it felt as thought it was your first dinner _ever._ Meals with your father were nothing more than two people sitting on opposite ends of a table in silence—this was different, and for the first time in days you felt a quiet sort of comfort. Hange and Petra exchanging snarky remarks, Gunther insulting Oluo, and even the Captain sitting silently to one side of the table, always listening—for the first time, you felt welcomed. As good as it felt, you knew it was temporary. Best not to let yourself get too attached.

“I’m going back for thirds. Does anyone want anything?”

“ _Squad Leader Hange!_ ”

“ _What_?”


	4. Bruised Ribs, Bad Liars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter marks the beginning of the general plot of this story ! I’ll be writing from scratch from here on out, so the chapters might not be published so quickly one after the other
> 
> as always, I love any and all feedback! help me keep your favorite characters in character :) as always, thanks for reading!

"Shit, do the straps go on clockwise, or counterclockwise..."

"Squad Leader, you put them on every day!"

"I _know_ , I just forget!"

Hange was messing with the buckles of the straps on your legs in the hangar, tightening then loosening them as she attempted to get them to fit you correctly. "Aha! Got it." She stood up straight and placed her hands on her hips, admiring her handiwork. "You look like the real deal."

You looked down at yourself and lifted your leg up to get a better look at the straps, grinning. "Wow, these are a lot more comfortable than they look! You'd think they'd dig into your skin, you know?" 

"But they don't!" Hange beamed.

"They don't!" You agreed, bending your knee and pulling your foot up behind you to stretch your quad before switching to the other side. Hange had assured you that cadets rarely came into the storage room in the hangar, but you knew you’d be in some _serious_ hot water if the Commander or the Captain found out what the two of you were up to. 

It had been a little over a week since you'd permanently moved in with the survey corps, and ever since Hange first snuck you out to watch the cadets fly you'd been bugging her to let you try it for yourself. It only look a little bit of nagging to get her to finally agree, and now that you were trying out the 3DMG for the first time Hange seemed even more excited than you were. 

"Ok, ok, now hook the cylinders over the strap on your hip. Oh! Tighten the straps around your torso. Are your gas tanks full? Shit, I forgot to check. Make sure the gear doesn't block your weapons—" 

"Squad Leader! Slow down!" You joked, although you were beaming from ear to ear. 

"Sorry, I'm getting carried away.” Hange grinned, bashfully rubbing the back of her neck. "This is exciting! I remember my first time flying. I was 12."

" _Twelve_?" You guffawed, suddenly feeling very out of place at your age. "Wow, I'm _ancient_ by comparison." 

Hange snorted, latching the vertical maneuvering gear at the back of the ensemble before standing up and admiring her handiwork. "Anyone can fly, you just have to practice. I probably fell a dozen times before I flew straight for the first time."

"That's comforting," you snickered.

"You'll be _fine_. You're with me."

You felt a bit more reassured by that. Hange wouldn't let you hurt yourself—At least not _too_ badly. The gear was heavier than you thought it would be, and you shifted your weight back and forth to find your center of balance. 

"Sit back on your heels and keep your weight low. Remember, you're shooting from the hip when you fly, so don't try to use your arms to steer. It's all about body weight!" Hange said with a grin, then, a bit more seriously, "if you miss a landing, just tuck and roll. You'll get scuffed up, but you won't break anything that way. If you flail around you might break a leg." 

_Yikes._ You looked at her apprehensively this time, then glanced down at your gear with a nervous laugh. "Uh, how often do legs get broken around here?" You joked halfheartedly.

"Not _that_ often. I thought you wanted to do this!"

"I _do_!" You exclaimed, then you steadied yourself, reaching down and palming the handles. "I do. I've read so much about it, it would be a shame if I never got to try." You smiled now, a glint in your eye, "Even if I _do_ break my leg, it'll be worth it."

"Hey!" 

"Kidding!"

The warehouse was long and wide, with high arched ceilings supported by metal beams that hung low and heavy, perfect for landing on. You and Hange walked through the storage hangar until you came across a recently-cleared area. Supplies had been shipped out to a satellite Survey Corps office only a few days ago, so the floor was littered with stacks of empty wooden crates. It was the ideal arena for a beginner. 

Hange beckoned you over to a large crate, indicating for you to climb up on top of it. "Here, this is a good start position." 

You clambered up on top of the crate and steadied yourself, looking down at Hange with a grin that barely contained your excitement. "Okay. So I have to shoot for something higher than me so I can swing, right?"

"Exactly. You can start by using the cables to just swing from crate to crate." She pointed way up to one of the horizontal beams supporting the canopy roof. "Try aiming for that, and keep your cables loose!"

The handles were heavy in your palms as you nervously took your aim. Your hands were sweating profusely, and you briefly wondered whether you'd be able to hold on once you started moving. For a moment you thought about backing out, but you didn't give yourself any more time to reconsider as you looked to Hange for a countdown. 

"Ready...set...go!"

_WHOOSH_. The hooks sailed through the air in slow-motion, and almost as soon as you felt the cables go taut you heard the double doors to the storage hangar slam open. In your momentary distraction you flailed, grabbed your own cables, and dragged yourself unceremoniously to the floor. 

Hange let out a stream of curses, quickly dragging you to your feet and shoving you behind a stack of crates. You weren't hurt, only disoriented, and in your stupor you heard her whisper something along the lines of "— _What the hell's he doing here! Bastard never comes in here, gotta hide—!_ Commander Erwin! Pleasure seeing you here."

You froze behind the crates, holding your breath as Hange slowly turned around and walked away from where you were hidden toward the Commander. "Squad Leader Zöe. Is something the matter?"

"Of course not! Why do you ask?" Hange replied much too quickly, and you covered your face in embarrassment. She was going to get both of you in deep trouble. 

"I thought I heard something crash."

"Crash? Commander, you might want to get your ears checked."

Hange's voice was fading, and you peeked out from around the side of the crate you were hidden behind and saw the two of them walking in the opposite direction, toward the back of the supply room. Your cables were still extended, lying in a heap to your right, and you realized if Erwin had walked in a few moments later you would have been flying through the air, and Hange would be _toast._ Bits and pieces of conversation reached you as you carefully reeled in your cables. 

"...needed to check supplies for paperwork. Seems like every month they send us fewer supplies."

"Their Garrison Regiment isn't well-funded, Commander, I'm sure that's their top priority right now, all things considered."

"Understandably so."

As soon as Hange and the Commander disappeared around a corner and were out of earshot, you started to take the 3DMG off as quickly and as quietly as possible. You hastily tugged at the straps to loosen them and peered around the corner of the crate once more. The coast was clear. You stood up warily, then gently set the gear down on the floor and backed away. 

Suddenly, you bumped into someone, and you nearly shrieked before they slapped a hand over your face and spun you around. "It's me!" Hange whispered, looking frantically both ways. "Quick, let's get you out of here before you get me into even _more_ trouble."

" _More_ trouble?" You hissed, following Hange as she jogged around the back of the warehouse. "What did you _do_?"

"I locked the Commander in the back room to stall him."

"You _what_?"

"It's fine, I'll just pretend it was an accident!"

The two of you hurried out the back door, which opened out into the field behind headquarters. A warm breeze blew your hair back as you stepped outside, and you and Hange doubled over to catch your breath, panting. The only sound was the rustling of leaves from the gentle breeze. After a moment you laughed shakily. "You locked the Commander in a _storage_ room," you said in awe.

"...We never speak of this again," said Hange seriously, but a shit-eating grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Now get inside! I'll meet up with you later." She poked her head back inside the doors, then disappeared into the warehouse. You pulled the hood of your cape over your head and quickly made your way back into headquarters.

...

You went out into the hangar with Hange every day, but no matter how many times you asked, she refused to let you suit up and try to fly again. 

"Squad Leader, what if I keep my hood up and pretend to be one of your squad members?"

"Nope!"

"What if I test it out in the middle of the night? Nobody will be there!"

"Ugh, _no_ , I need my sleep!"

"Ok, fair. What if—"

"Nope, nope, nopity nope!"

It was all in good fun, but you were honestly disappointed. At this rate, you might get to try the 3DMG again when you were 168 years old. Hange told you to ask Commander Erwin if he'd change his stance, but you already knew what his answer would be. It was a hopeless cause.

You'd had one short meeting with the Commander, an update about happenings in Mitras, although frankly he'd been reluctant to say much. At the moment there was nothing you could do except for stay put and wait. The MP would send word when you'd be allowed to collect belongings and speak with an attorney. The process was excruciatingly slow.

Murder was a tricky business. It was also quite rare in Mitras, and you were beginning to realize one of two things; Either the Military Police was an entirely incompetent branch, or they were simply ill-prepared to deal with a case quite so close to home. Either way, you were stuck with the Corps until further notice.

All things considered, you understood Commander Erwin's restrictions. It would be a blemish on the Corps’ reputation if a guest of theirs—someone of your stature—was to injure themselves or, God forbid, die. The legal implications would be tremendous. Not to mention one could feasibly argue that the Commander himself had tried to coerce you into joining the Scouts as a recruit. Lord knew their numbers were tight. Yes, you understood your place within these walls, and it certainly was not flying around playing soldier.

Even so, you wondered what it was like to fly without wings. You sat forlornly on a bench and watched Hange's squad do test runs for the millionth day in a row, resting your head in your hand. Then it struck you. 

You could try the 3DMG yourself. 

_No way_ , you thought to yourself, shoving that idea back into the far reaches of your mind. _Not a good idea. What if you hurt yourself?_ You pushed the thought away, kicking idly at the grass. The idea had already taken root, though, and it fought its way to the forefront of your thoughts tooth and nail. _When else would you ever get the chance?_

You furrowed your brows gently and looked down at your own hands in your lap. You'd spent countless hours in your bedroom curled up reading books about the 3DMG and its mechanical history. You'd pored over pages and nearly memorized every diagram in _3DMG: A Functional Manual_. For some reason you felt convinced that you needed to try it, at least once. 

"Hey, you alright? Hange's squad just left." You snapped to attention, peering up to see Petra, who looked a bit concerned. 

"I must've lost track of the time." You got to your feet, smiling sheepishly. "Is the Captain's squad about to train?" 

"Yes! Would you like to watch? I'm sure the Captain wouldn't mind."

"Ah, no thanks! Commander Erwin wanted to meet with me soon," you lied, then paused for a moment. You casually indicated to the hangar, feigning nonchalance. "Seems like there's always someone using the hangar for training. Is it usually this busy?"

Petra smiled proudly. "Recruitment has been up the past few years, so we've been able to expand our squads. The hangar stays open in case anyone needs to replace their gear or fill up their gas tanks." 

You watched as a batch of cadets entered the hangar, then one by one they came back out geared up, meeting their squads to train. “I’ve heard supplies are low right now, though.” 

“They are, but the Corps is no stranger to need,” Petra replied, growing solemn. She followed your gaze, watching a squad fit their horses with saddles. “We’ve been rationing gas to make sure we have plenty for important expeditions. The warehouses in Trost keep our surplus.” 

“I see,” you mused, watching a small group of three cadets pass by on their way back into headquarters. “It’s admirable, the way you’re prepared for anything. I’ve looked up to this branch since I was a child.” 

“Myself as well. Do you have any family members who served?” 

“My grandfather on my mother’s side. He passed away just over ten years ago of old age,” you replied with a small smile.

“I’m sure he served nobly,” Petra said solemnly.

“I’m sure he did too.”

The breeze picked up, sweeping your and Petra’s hair back for a moment before settling back down. The two of you stood watching the hangar for a moment before Oluo and Gunther approached. 

“Hey brat,” Oluo called over to Petra, earning him an indignant scowl. “Is our guest training with us today?” He joked, dropping his gear to the ground and leaning down to tighten his boots. 

“In your wildest dreams,” you replied with a grin. “I have more important things to do, like talk to Commander Erwin and make five aimless loops around headquarters.” Oluo snickered at that, hoisting his gear up and attaching it to himself. 

“Anything’s more important than _this._ With humanity’s strongest soldier and _me_ on this squad, what’s the point in training?” He groaned, begrudgingly taking his swords out and inspecting them. If looks could kill, Petra was shooting daggers from her eyes.

“Watch it, Oluo. Keep talking like that and you’ll bite your tongue again,” Gunther grumbled, adjusting his own gear.

“He won’t _need_ to bite his tongue,” Petra said lowly, “I’ll cut it right out of his _mouth_.” You covered your mouth to hide your grin, sharing a knowing glance with Gunther. 

After a few more minutes Eld appeared from inside the hangar, followed by the Captain. You waved a quick goodbye to Petra and promised to meet her for dinner. 

The halls were nearly empty at midday—most of the squads had either embarked on local expeditions or were busy training. Hange had left on a research trip, so you were left to your own devices for the rest of the day. Your meeting with the Commander was a lie, so your options were as follows:

A. Roam the halls  
B. Roam the grounds  
C. Sleep  
D. Think

None of which sounded especially attractive. You’d learned over the past week that you felt your best when you distracted yourself from your circumstances. The longer you went without thinking about Francis or your father, the better. 

Sometimes it crept in, though, when you found yourself alone after a day of watching training. No matter how hard you tried, the thoughts came back, and with the thoughts came a sadness that left you curled up in the fetal position in your bed. You hated that feeling. It was easy to keep it hidden away during the day, when you were with Hange or Petra. Only when you were alone did things start to feel overwhelming, and you had no idea how to make it go away. You turned down a long hallway lined with bedrooms, lost in thought. 

What you needed was a distraction, and you had an idea for what that distraction might be. Was it a _good_ idea? Probably not—but it was an idea nonetheless. You stopped in front of your door, thinking hard.

Petra said that the hangar was left open for use just in case someone needed to replace their gear. How late, you wondered, did the hangar remain unlocked? Was it guarded? Could you sneak in without being caught? A plan slowly began to form in your head.

You were going to teach yourself how to use the 3DMG.

...

Night had fallen. You’d just gotten back from dinner with Petra and the rest of the Captain’s squad, and the legion had nearly all returned from their patrols. Hange's squad hadn’t returned yet, but Levi said that was typical—she wasn’t one to be on time. 

Your room was dark now that the sun had set, and the only light came from the lantern sitting on your dresser. It was a cool night, and the sound of crickets drifted in through your open window as you paced the room, nervously twirling your hair with your fingers. 

“Come on, no cold feet,” you murmured, slapping the sides of your face gently, “this will be _easy_. It’s not like you’re trying to kill _titans_!” You steadied yourself, taking a deep breath. In all honesty, you felt a lot more confident about your haphazard plan to sneak out of HQ when you weren’t actually moments away from doing it. It was dawning on you that you had no idea what you were doing—and if the hangar was locked up? Forget it. There were a million things that could go wrong, and yet...

The green cape that Petra had given you was neatly folded on your bed, and you stared at it so hard that a passerby might have thought you were engaged in a staring contest with it. “I _can’t_ do this. I’m a guest here, and breaking rules would be pushing my luck,” you murmured solemnly to yourself, wringing your hands. Another stretch of silence followed. 

_...What’s the worst that could happen, though?_

_You could get hurt. Badly hurt. You could get lost in the woods and eaten by wolves. The Commander could find out you’d left. The Captain could find out you’d left. Need you go on?_

_Or everything could go smoothly—you could test the gear, return it to the hangar, sneak back into your room by morning and be up in time to meet Hange for training._

_Or you could break a leg. No—both legs!_

You pressed your palms to your eyelids and groaned, at war within yourself, stopped at a metaphorical crossroads. How would you ever convince the Commander you were capable if you couldn’t even convince _yourself_? 

The green cape lay innocently on the bed like it wasn’t the driving reason for your internal conflict. A beat passed, then you begrudgingly picked the cape up and slung it over your shoulders, tying it in the front and pulling the hood over your head.

_Think of it this way,_ you thought nervously to yourself, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you adjusted the front of your cape, _if you were caught, at the very least you’d get a good story out of it._

You covered the top of your lantern and watched as the flame was slowly snuffed out, plunging your room into darkness. Moonlight filtered in through the window, casting a gentle glow over your face. As your eyes adjusted you opened the door to your bedroom, wincing as it creaked obnoxiously on its hinges. At this rate, you’d wake the entire legion before stepping a single foot outside of HQ. You peered both ways down the hallway, holding your breath.

The hallway was completely empty, the only movement was the light flickering from the lanterns dancing on the walls. You warily stepped out into the hall and gently shut the door behind you, tucking the key into your pocket. A breath you had forgotten you were holding escaped you. Step one was complete—now all you had to do was successfully sneak your way into the hangar. You made your way quietly down the hallway in the direction of the mess hall.

_Petra said expedition days were usually quiet, but you hadn’t imagined it would be this eerily calm,_ you thought to yourself, adjusting your hood so it hung low over your eyes. The familiar hum of conversation was still audible from the mess hall, but it was subdued—clearly it was nearly empty. Rather than turning down the main corridor toward the front of HQ, you veered down a narrower passageway. This hallway wasn’t well-lit, but through the dim light of the few lanterns you could see the double doors leading out into the East training fields.

You’d barely made it a few steps down the hall when suddenly you heard footsteps, and you scrambled to one side, hiding yourself in a small alcove that housed a few administrative offices. The footsteps approached rapidly—one, no, two people talking in low voices as they made their way into the heart of headquarters. Their voices faded just as quickly as they came, disappearing down an adjacent hall.

You stood in silence for a long moment, catching your breath. _That was close,_ you mused, poking your head out from around the corner to check if the coast was clear once more. _Too close._ The faster you could get outside and away from the rest of the legion, the better. You hurried down the passageway, keeping your head low. The doors that let out into the fields were, thankfully, unlocked, and you slipped through them out into the open air without a hitch.

The hangar stood long and low a few hundred meters ahead of you, and from the looks of it there wasn’t another soul in sight. The lanterns had all been extinguished, but from a distance you couldn’t tell if the huge metal doors were chained shut. You peered carefully both ways, then jogged through the tall grass over to the front entrance to the building. Much to your dismay the doors were shut and padlocked, and for a moment you thought it had all been for nothing.

_Might as well check the back doors, since I’ve come all this way_ , you mused. The hangar had two separate entrances at the back, usually used for accepting or sending out shipments of supplies. The first one at the far left back corner of the building was locked from the inside, but the second at the right was ajar, like someone had forgotten to close it all the way. You took that as a sign in your favor and slipped inside.

The hangar was nearly pitch black, but you’d come prepared with a match. Feeling along the wall blindly, you came across an unlit lantern hanging from a nail to the right of the door. You took it down and struck the match, setting it ablaze and casting a wide circle of yellow light over the floor of the hangar. You held it high to get your bearings.

With the lantern you could see stacks of crates filled with gas tanks that looked like they had just been shipped in today. Further down there were replacement cables wrapped around rods, and across from those were sacks of potatoes shipped from the outer ring of wall Maria. You took a few steps into the darkness and held the lantern out in front of you.

Through the darkness you could see stacks of gear, fully assembled 3DMG sitting and waiting to be put to use. You set the lantern down gently and hauled one set of gear up from the floor, resting it on a crate for a moment as you tried to remember how to put it on. _Shit, did the straps go clockwise, or counterclockwise?_

You fiddled with the ensemble, attaching it to yourself and tightening the loops so that it sat comfortably at your hips. You disengaged the swords—you wouldn’t need them, after all, you were just teaching yourself the basics. After stabilizing the vertical maneuvering gear in the back you stood up straight, admiring your work. It was thanks to Squad Leader Hange you even knew how to assemble the 3DMG at all.

The hardest part was over—you’d managed to sneak out of the survey corps headquarters and had stolen an entire set of 3D maneuver gear. Luck was clearly smiling upon you. Now all that was left to do was put Hange's minimal training and your years of reading to good use. You picked up the lantern once more, much more confident now, and made your way back out the back door.

The night was cool and misty, droplets of dew spotting the grass and collecting on your boots as you made your way down into the training grounds. The forest surrounding HQ stood tall and thick, the underbrush overgrown except for the winding walking paths that had been trampled down by cadets over the years. You followed one into the forest, squinting in the darkness as you made your way into a clearing. You’d been this way with Hange's squad before—it was a well-used training area with low-hanging boughs and long stretches of open air. The moonlight shone through the canopy, illuminating the patch of open land.

You pulled your hood back and set the lantern down on a low, flat rock. It was still and quiet except for the sound of crickets and small animals shuffling around in the underbrush. The quiet bore down on you like a heavy blanket, almost too perfect for you to break the peace. You waited for a moment, standing silently at the edge of the clearing.

“Okay.” You murmured. “Shoot from the hip, lean back on your heels.” You climbed up onto the flat rock you’d set the lantern down on and took both of the handles into your hands. “Aim low.” _And don’t break a leg._

The moon lit up a wide, low hanging branch on the far side of the clearing, and you aimed for it. If all went well, your grappling hooks ought to land right in the center of the bough. You fired, and the hooks sailed through the open air and planted themselves exactly where you’d aimed.

A grin worked its way across your face. Your hooks had taken root right where you wanted them to be. Now all you had to do was activate the gas mechanism and retract the cables to pull yourself in. Endued with newfound confidence, you braced yourself for the whiplash and switched on the gas mechanism, hearing a _whoosh_ of air before you were suddenly propelled through the air.

“Whooaaa— _oof_ —!” Almost as quickly as your feet had left the ground you slammed face-first into the thick tree branch that you’d aimed for. You wrapped your arms and legs around the bough and hauled yourself arduously to your feet, regaining your balance. You coughed, the wind having been knocked out of you.

Your hooks were still attached to the tree, and you released them with the handgrips, staring down at where you’d landed thoughtfully. It seemed like you’d aimed too low. When you reeled yourself in, you could only go as far as the grappling hooks traveled before hitting their target. While you got the position right, you needed to aim for a branch higher than the one you wanted to land on, then disconnect the hooks at the last minute so you fall to the branch below feet-first.

Thinking back, you realized that you’d seen this happen before. Sometimes cadets would crash into the objects they had grappled onto. The cables followed the hooks—so if your hooks were planted at the _front_ of your target, you’d land adjacent to it. If you wanted to land on top of your target, you had to aim _above_ it.

The lantern flickered below you, casting a wide halo of light over the clearing. It was bright, but didn’t lend you much visibility higher up in the trees. You reeled your cables in, peering around in the dark to find your next target. Across the clearing you could make out another sturdy bough, just over a dozen meters away. Above it was your target—a thinner branch, but large enough in diameter to support your weight.

More confident this time, you took your aim and fired once more, watching as the hooks planted themselves in the wood. The gas mechanism switched on and you soared through the air, your hair flying wildly. On the approach you clumsily disengaged the hooks and reeled the cables back in, flying—no— _falling_ through the air unsupported. You stumbled upon impact, grabbing the tree trunk to stabilize yourself.

It wasn’t pretty, but you’d done it right this time. It took some serious multitasking, and you’d nearly gotten the timing wrong, but for your second time using the 3DMG ever? Not bad. At least, you didn’t think so.

You turned and identified your next target. This time you'd try to do it all together, in one clean movement.

_Shwip, whoosh, thump!_ You landed yet again on the next branch over, nearly falling clear out of the tree. _Shwip, whoosh, thud!_ This time you didn’t trip over yourself, although you felt the impact in nearly every single one of your joints.

You were high above the clearing now, high enough that the canopy had thinned out and you could see the moon. The darkness was thick, and you squinted to find your next landing point, your gaze settling on a tall oak a hundred meters away. It was the longest distance you’d attempted yet, with no cover in-between in case you needed to make an emergency landing.

Fueled by your success, you fired the grappling hooks and pumped the gas, soaring through the air.

Then out from the darkness came a huge tree branch, previously hidden in the shadows. There was no way to stop or change course—you were hurtling toward it faster than you could think of a plan.

“Shit—!” One of your hooks slammed into the branch while the other continued sailing through the air, finding its original target. The cables had diverged, going different directions, and you were thrown wildly off course, flying aimlessly through the air. You hit the hidden tree head-on, hearing an ominous _crunch_ from your ribcage. A shout was ripped from your lungs, and you grabbed pointlessly at your own cables to gain purchase.

Then you started to fall.

Your descent was slowed by the thick padding of canopy, but what ultimately stopped you from slamming into the ground hundreds of feet below you was the second grappling hook, which had planted itself in the target tree. The cable went taut, sending you swinging back and forth like a rag doll, hitting trees on your way down. As the cable started to untwist itself you started spinning.

You weren’t sure if you were shouting or if that was the sound of the wind screaming in your ears. Everything was a blur as you fell, grasping at anything you could get your hands on. Tree branches cut into your hands as you slowed to an unsteady stop, hanging from the one cable that was still attached to the tree far above you.

The forest was ominously silent. You gasped for air, your ribs aching terribly as you looked around frantically, trying to get your bearings. It was unimaginably dark—you couldn’t see the light from your lantern anymore. You’d descended to 15 or so feet above the ground, and as you hung helplessly from your cable you let out a breathy laugh.

Okay. _Okay_ , that could have been worse. You could have broken a leg. Or broken both legs. Or died. You wheezed, content to just dangle in the air for a little while as you collected yourself.

The night was still. Then your second cable disengaged and you plummeted the remaining fifteen feet to the ground, shrieking all the way. Your right ankle crumpled underneath you upon impact, and you collapsed to a heap in the underbrush.

You’d never been in so much pain in your life.

Your ribs were on fire, and your right ankle was throbbing. You lifted your head weakly, peering blearily through the darkness with tired eyes. Across the way you could see your lantern sitting where you’d left it, still flickering meekly with whatever oil was left.

A jolt of fear shot through you—how long had it been? If the lantern sputtered out you’d be left alone in the forest, in the dark, with no way of finding your way back. You had to get to your feet and make your way back to HQ as quickly as possible.

Using your arms you pushed yourself arduously to your knees, biting your tongue to keep yourself from crying out in pain. The 3DMG was only weighing you down, and you unlatched it from around your hips, letting it fall to the ground with a _clank_. There was no way you’d be able to carry it back to the hangar in the state you were in. You’d find and return it later.

Getting to your feet was much easier without the gear, and using the trees as support you limped over to your lantern and picked it up. It wasn’t a terribly long walk back to HQ, but your ankle felt just about ready to give out. You held the lantern out in front of you, using your other arm to support your weight.

It was slow going, and your body just wasn’t cooperating with you. Your ankle buckled underneath you with every step, and your hands and arms stung from the scratches you’d gotten during your fall. When you inhaled your breath whistled through your lungs, and your _ribs_ -

“Ah—!” You hissed, doubling over with a choked groan. You stayed still for a long moment, catching your breath as the pain pulsed through your body. After some time you channeled the last of your energy and started walking again, shaking limb from limb.

Through the treetops the turrets of the castle appeared, illuminated by moonlight. Relief flooded your system and you stumbled to a halt, steadying yourself up against a tree trunk with both arms. The lantern slipped from your hand and hit the ground, rolling a few feet away and sputtering out with a _hiss_. Following suit, you collapsed with your back against the tree, sliding down to a seated position and fighting to breathe.

If you weren’t drifting in and out of consciousness you might have noticed someone approaching from the direction of the hangar. Through the shroud of darkness you saw a pair of boots making their way through the underbrush, followed by a pair of shiny swords and a green cape. You blinked through tired eyes, peering up at the person as they approached you.

Staring down at you was the very unimpressed face of Captain Levi.


	5. Infirmaries and Insurgencies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the wait!!! this chapter ended up being a bit longer than expected. plot heavy, bear with us folks! 
> 
> thanks so much for reading, and feedback always appreciated :)

If you’d asked yourself a week ago where you thought you’d be, you wouldn't have said anything close to where you currently were.

So where were you, exactly? Draped over the Captain’s shoulder halfway up a flight of stairs, struggling to breathe and barely conscious.

Maybe you should backtrack.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” 

You stared blearily up at the Captain, wheezing gently as you caught your breath. You must have been unconscious for some time before he appeared, because the question didn’t even register properly in your mind.

The Captain watched you impassively, resting one hand on his sword hilt. You must’ve looked wary at the sight of his hand on his weapon, because he followed your gaze and dropped his hand from the hilt to his knee, kneeling down to your height. “What happened,” he asked, although it wasn’t really much of a question. 

You were especially slow on the uptake, but the realization eventually struck you. The 3DMG was sitting somewhere in the forest where you’d left it. For all the Captain knew you could have been abducted, or attacked. 

“Nothing,” you managed to finally get out, your voice much colder than you meant it to be. Another stabbing pain rocketed through your body from your chest and you grimaced, grasping at your ribs. The Captain looked at you strangely, like he didn’t believe you in the slightest, but to your surprise he didn’t ask any more questions. 

“You’re hurt?” He indicated to where you were holding yourself. 

“No,” you replied immediately, attempting to straighten out your face. The cold was settling in, biting at your face and hands and snapping you back to reality. You were unintentionally doing damage control, trying to salvage what remaining dignity you had. “I’m fine. I just fell.” 

Technically it wasn’t a lie. You _had_ fallen. It was only a matter of a couple hundred feet difference in distance—but the Captain didn’t need to know that. He looked at you more critically now, his gaze sweeping you head to foot. You were sure you looked awful, red welts and scrapes riddling your body. Dirt was no doubt all over you. 

“Good. Stand up, then. If you’re not hurt,” he finally said, standing up himself and looking down at you expectantly. You were thrown off for a moment, unsure if you’d be able to stand—and if he asked you to walk? Game over. 

Determined to keep up the charade, you shifted your weight and got your left foot underneath you, keeping all of your weight off of your right ankle. With one hand you used the tree to push yourself to your feet, holding the other hand to your ribs and applying pressure to lessen the pain. With gritted teeth you rose to your feet, keeping your face perfectly straight.

Levi knew you were hurt—you could tell from how he watched you struggle to your feet—but he said nothing. He adopted an unreadable expression, his eyes hooded in the moonlight. It was difficult to tell what he might be thinking, but you knew for a fact that he was well aware of what you'd done.

You had a similar face, one that left most things hidden to the naked eye. Proper, prim, polite. Poised to the point where you almost seemed mean. Your resting face was developed over years of nagging by your father and your teachers alike. You had no doubt Levi’s pokerface was the same. 

Maybe the Captain was sparing you the embarrassment. Maybe he just liked watching you suffer. Maybe this was an unspoken game of chicken where one of you had to fold first. You had never really considered yourself a competitive person, but right now, standing in the forest, aching in every joint and cold to the bone, you couldn’t bring yourself to admit you were hurt.

A silent standoff ensued. 

“You should go to the infirmary,” Levi finally said.

“I’m not hurt,” you lied. He glanced at you as he adjusted his gear, an exasperated look painted across his features. 

“Then walk,” he replied, indicating back up toward the side entrance to HQ. You stared hopelessly at the long stretch of land separating you and the castle, then slowly turned your face back to the Captain.

“I can’t,” you muttered.

“Sorry?” 

“I _can’t_.” You repeated, more firmly this time. Then, finally—“I can’t put weight on this ankle,” you admitted, indicating down to your right ankle dejectedly. The Captain looked down at your ankle, the back up at you. Then in one movement he took your wrist and pulled your arm over his shoulder, then wrapped his other arm around your back, hoisting you up. You made a noise of pain, holding your chest with your free hand. 

“I’ll help you to the infirmary, then,” Levi said simply, taking a few steps forward and giving you a moment to steady yourself. “Bad fall?” He added, and you almost detected a twinge of sarcasm lacing his tone. 

“Quite.” You bit out, hobbling alongside him as the two of you made your way out of the forest and into the clearing by the hangar.

Embarrassment settled high in your cheeks, and you were glad the cover of the dark hid your flushed face. You hadn’t been this close to another person in years—the feeling was almost uncomfortable. You fought down your discomfort, trying in vain to pretend that Levi was anyone else.

You had hoped to remain undetected the entire time you were outside of your room. Out, then in, with no evidence you’d even so much as opened your door. Now you were in a pinch—not only was the Captain well aware that you’d slipped out of HQ undetected, but he also knew you’d hurt yourself doing _something_ you weren’t supposed to.

He'd likely already guessed what you’d done—a fall wouldn’t injure you in the way that you were injured. Not to mention the 3DMG you’d stolen was still sitting somewhere in the underbrush. Hopefully it was well off the beaten path, hidden away so that nobody found it before you had the chance to return it. 

Levi pushed open the doors to the east wing of headquarters with his free arm, then helped you inside. You’d known he was a man of few words, but his nonchalance caught you by surprise. For some reason, he hadn’t pressed you for answers beyond asking what had happened. He may not have believed your story, but for the time being all he knew was that you’d fallen—and he took that answer point blank.

Whether it was because he simply couldn’t care less or because he didn’t want to have to deal with the Commander, you were grateful that the Captain was playing along with your story. It certainly made things easier for you. If he was really going to take your word for it, you might just be able to gloss over your injuries and pretend nothing had ever happened.

Levi helped you up a flight of stairs and then turned down another corridor. A few doors down you could see a small bulletin board hung on the wall with a short list of inpatients and outpatients. The infirmary was open, light and the soft lull of voices pouring out from the open door into the hallway. You stopped at the doorway, removing your arm from around the Captain’s shoulders and leaning heavily up against the doorframe. 

“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” one nurse called over from her standing desk that was almost entirely buried in papers. You inadvertently leaned onto your bad ankle and grimaced slightly, readjusting your posture to keep your balance. Levi looked at you once more as if to ensure you could stand up properly for long enough that you didn’t collapse before the nurse took care of you. 

“I’m alright,” you said quickly (although he hadn’t asked), forcing the pain down and smiling as genuinely as you could. Then, almost as if it were an afterthought—“Thank you. I apologize for the inconvenience.” 

“No need,” the Captain said idly, as though finding random guests of the Survey Corps collapsed in a heap on the forest floor was a regular occurrence for him. He almost seemed bored as he glanced quickly into the infirmary and then readjusted one of his wrist cuffs. “I’ll be going, if that’s all. Watch your step next time,” he suggested plainly, wasting no time in turning down the hall and receding back the way the two of you came.

You stood aghast in the doorway, holding your ribs and leaning heavily on your left side as you watched him walk off.

What an incredibly strange interaction. It almost didn’t feel real. If it weren’t for the crippling embarrassment that was threatening to make you throw up your dinner, you might’ve thought you’d had an especially vivid fever dream.

“ _Sina,_ what’s happened to you?” Came the voice of a second nurse as she bustled her way over to you and fussed over the dirt on your uniform. “Come, let’s get you bandaged.” The woman who took your arm was tall and lanky, with auburn hair cut just below her chin and two pairs of reading glasses pushed up onto her forehead. She looked to be in her mid-to-late thirties, and had streaks of silver-gray hair. “Just scratches and bruises?” She asked. 

“My right ankle is a bit sore,” you admitted, letting yourself be led to an infirmary cot. _A bit sore. Yeah, right._

“Twisted on your way down, I’d guess.” Your nurse said, scribbling a few short notes on a piece of paper sitting on the desk next to the cot. 

“And, ah, my ribs sort of hurt, too,” you added, fully aware that you were lying through your teeth. 

“Bruised on impact. Sit back and I’ll check that out for you in a minute, alright?” 

The nurse disappeared behind a curtain for a few minutes, giving you some time to get situated and drop the tough act. With a painful exhale you leaned back against the wall and shrugged off your cape, rubbing your very sore ribcage gently. It hurt to breathe, and you wheezed audibly with every deep breath. You folded your cape neatly and set it at the foot of the cot. 

“Alright miss, let’s see what you’ve done to yourself,” the nurse said as she ducked back into the sectioned-off area enclosing your cot. She now had a clipboard and a medical chart in her hands, no doubt filled out with your name and other pertinent information. She tapped the back of your shoulder gently. “Sit up and take this off, dear.” 

You did as asked, unbuttoning the top and laying it down across your lap carefully. The nurse made an odd noise, staring at your chest with a mildly horrified look on her face. You peered down at yourself and grimaced, realizing what she was seeing—a constellation of huge purple and yellow bruises decorated your ribcage.

“I really don’t think it’s as bad as it looks!” You attempted, smiling innocently as the nurse whipped out a stethoscope, looking flustered. 

“You aren’t even a Scout. Do I _want_ to know how this happened to you?” She clucked disapprovingly, sticking the earpieces into her ears and gently pressing the scope to the back of your chest. You took a deep breath in and pointedly avoided her question, pretending to be preoccupied with the buttons on your top. After a few deep breaths she stood up, grumbling to herself. “Just as I thought. You’ve got a collapsed lung. Sina have _mercy_...” she stuffed the stethoscope back into the front pocket of her smock and pinned you with a stern look. 

“That would explain why it’s a bit hard to breathe,” you joked halfheartedly, and the nurse clicked her tongue, although she did crack a smile. 

“Well, it ought to clear itself up in a day or so, as long as you don’t _fall_ again,” she said pointedly, scribbling something down in your chart before setting her clipboard down on a side table. “As for your ankle, you’ve got a bad sprain. We’ll wrap it up, but the best medicine is rest.” 

“Of course. Thank you—“ you paused, realizing you hadn’t remembered basic courtesy. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t ask your name?” 

The nurse looked surprised, like she hadn’t been asked that question in a long time. “I’m Lena!” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Lena,“ you smiled, reaching out to shake her hand and give her your name in response. You realized she probably already knew your name considering it was listed in the file the corps had on hand.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” Lena smiled. Then she sobered up a bit, looking at you a bit more seriously, “You really ought to be more careful, though. We can’t have you hurting yourself, you’re a guest of the Corps!” 

“Of course, you’re right. I was careless,” you admitted, sitting yourself up straight as Lena picked up a roll of gauze and reached down to pull your boot off wrap your ankle. “I promise to be more careful.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Lena grinned, looping the gauze tightly around your ankle and working her way down to your heel. At the base of your foot she ripped the gauze and tucked it into the loops to secure it. “There, all set. Unfortunately, your ribs will have to heal on their own.”

“That’s alright, I’m just glad they aren’t broken,” you replied, heaving a painful sigh of relief and inspecting your wrapped ankle. “What about my breathing?”

“It will return to normal soon—maybe even overnight. There’s not much we can give a collapsed lung except for plenty of rest and plenty of time,” Lena explained, readjusting your cot so that you could lay down comfortably. “Speaking of _rest_ , it’s past midnight. You ought to stay here overnight, and we’ll discharge you in the morning.”

You wanted to protest, but you figured Lena was right—you were in no condition to go back to your room, and either way, you weren’t sure you had the energy left to make it back in one piece. “I guess I have no choice,” you sighed, settling back into a reclined position and taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Lena.”

“Of course. There will be a nurse on duty at all times in case you need anything, but try and get some rest if you can.” Lena explained as she collected her tools and a few stray papers. She adjusted the curtains around your cot for privacy then turned back to you. “I’ll be going now. Goodnight!”

“Goodnight!” You replied as Lena ducked underneath one of the curtains, and in her absence it swung back into place. The sound of voices and the shuffling of papers could still be heard, but you already were beginning to feel drowsy again now that you were indoors. Without the cold biting at your face and the pain from your injuries keeping you awake, you realized just how tired you were. 

There was a small lamp sitting on the nightstand next to your cot, and you reached over to put it out. The low light made you somehow even sleepier than before, and in a drowsy stupor you reached down to grab the folded blanket at the foot of your bed. You unfolded it and tossed it over yourself, then pulled it up to your chin and tried to get comfortable.

You wondered briefly if a record of your injuries would be kept and shared with the Commander or other ranked officials of the Corps. The Captain found you in the forest with injuries not unlike those caused by a crash landing—there wouldn’t be any getting around it if Erwin found the circumstances out. If you’d been any more awake you might have been worried, but the warmth and the soft sound of voices lulled you to sleep.

...

“Hello? _Hello._. Helloooo—“

“Squad Leader Zöe, she’s still asleep! I can send for you as soon as she wakes up—“

You felt a gentle prodding at your cheek, like someone was poking you with their finger. “Come on, wake u—Whoa, her face is so soft!”

“Squad Leader—!”

The two voices continued whisper-bickering, but everything sounded muffled, like you had cotton stuffed into your ears. In a groggy haze you reached up to rub your eyes, still mostly asleep. 

“Hange, really, she had a rough night. Who knows if she’ll even be up before noon!” Came the stern voice, which you recognized as Lena’s. 

“Before noon? Well, we can't have that." Hange replied incredulously.

“Why _not_? The girl needs her rest!”

“The Commander requested to meet with her today. He sent me to her quarters to let her know.”

“—But Squad Leader, if you were told to go to her room, how did you know she was here?”

“Captain Levi told me," Hange replied. The room went silent for a moment. "What the hell did she do to herself, anyway?”

There was a long pause. After a moment, Lena cleared her throat uncomfortably. “She...fell.” She said meekly. Another stretch of silence ensued. 

“She fell,” Hange repeated. 

“Yes.”

“And you bought that?”

“ _Hange_ , you know it’s not my place to question these sorts of things!” Lena huffed, sounding exasperated.

“Okay, okay. Regardless, the Commander said it was urgent. Something about meeting with a representative for General Darius Zackly and a handful of Military Police.”

It was as though someone had sent 400 volts of electricity straight into your body. You sat up ramrod straight in the cot, looking slightly panicked as you tried to get your bearings.

“ _Zackly?_ ” You gasped, and a blurry blob that looked a lot like Hange doubled over with laughter. 

“Figured that would wake her up,” Hange said cheekily. You rubbed at your eyes again, more vigorously this time, then allowed your vision to refocus on Lena and the Squad Leader. Hange grinned at you. “Good morning!”

You barely acknowledged her greeting. “Did you say I’ll be meeting with—with General Zackly?” You guffawed, still feeling slightly woozy. 

“Hah, _no_. He doesn’t have time for that. You’ll be meeting with one of his representatives.” Hange waved a hand in front of her face as if to say _no big deal_. “Details bore me. I wasn’t paying attention. You’ll hear everything you need to know from the Commander.”

While Hange spoke, Lena brought over a tray with water and a few assorted snacks on it, offering it to you with an apologetic smile. You gratefully took the cup of water and an apple, scooting back to lean against the wall behind your cot.

“Okay, so I’m meeting with someone affiliated with General Zackly—but what would military representatives want with me?” You asked, taking a sip of water. 

“Didn’t I just say details bore me? I’ve got no clue.”

“Ugh. Well _you’re_ no help,” you joked.

“If you want me to take a guess, it might be about your safety. Your family’s no doubt been the talk of the town for the past week.”

“I’d assume that much.”

The three of you sat in silence for a moment, Lena organizing a file cabinet and Hange fidgeting with her goggles as you took a few bites of your apple, lost in thought. 

“Well, as soon as I check your vitals you’ll be free to go,” Lena said, finally breaking the silence. “How’s your breathing?”

“Better.” You replied, taking a deep breath as if to prove your point. Your chest was still sore, but the pain was all external now. The horrible stabbing pains from the night before had all but vanished, much to your relief. 

“Great. Now all that’s left is for you to stay off of that ankle as much as you can.” Lena said with a smile, indicating to your right foot. She reached behind the table next to your cot with a grunt, shuffling objects around for a moment before pulling out a long, thin, wooden crutch. “Here you go—we’ll give you a support. Let’s see, is it too tall for you? Here, let’s stand you up—“ 

Lena shooed Hange away and bustled around to the side of the cot, helping you to your feet and shoving the crutch under your right arm. “How does that feel?” You shifted your weight onto the crutch, taking an experimental step forward and biting back a grimace when you put too much pressure on your right ankle. It was going to take some getting used to, but for what it was worth—

“It’s great. Thank you Lena.”

“Perfect. I know it’s hard, but walk only when necessary,” Lena said seriously, looking up at you sternly from her position signing papers at her desk. “Just try to stay seated for a few days to speed the recovery process.”

“Got it. I can do that,” you replied with a grin, picking up your cape from your cot and slinging it over your shoulders one at a time. Now that you were up and about, you figured you ought to make yourself look presentable. At the far end of the infirmary there was a sink and a small mirror, and you hobbled over excruciatingly slowly, struggling with the crutch. 

Your reflection almost made you wish you were still knocked out somewhere in the woods. Mud decorated your cheeks and somehow there was still a leaf stuck in your hair. A bruise shaped somewhat like a pig had blossomed across your left jawline, and the bags under your eyes were at their very worst. You stared distastefully at the mirror, then vigorously scrubbed at your face with cold water, feeling all the more embarrassed that your superiors had to see you like this.

After adequately cleaning yourself up you returned to where Hange and Lena were seated. Hange had doodled all over your patient chart, playing tic-tac-toe with herself while Lena prattled on about treatment plans and pain management. 

“You look like a whole new person!” Hange noted playfully, grinning for a moment before squinting at you and raising a hand to point hesitatingly at your face. “You know, that bruise kind of looks like a pig.” You glared at her, although you were trying not to laugh. 

Three outpatient form signatures later Lena finally sent you on your way, complete with a roll of compression bandages and a tube of ointment for the bruising. Hange accompanied you back to your room, giving you more details about your meeting with the Commander as the two of you walked. 

“You’re in a unique position, as I’m sure you know,” said Hange as she helped you down a flight of stairs, her tone much more serious now that the two of you were alone. “The Fritz administration can assign a new Advisor—they probably already have. Your home and your assets, however—they’re just lying in wait.” 

You hummed in response, lost in thought as the two of you walked in silence for a moment.

“It’s a difficult situation,” Hange finally said, almost sounding unsure of herself, “regardless, the Commander will tell you everything you need to know.”

“Right,” you said, sounding almost as unsteady as you felt. A beat passed, and you decided to change the subject. “So when will I be meeting with him?”

“Soon,” Hange said, sounding glad to be done talking about administrative things. “It’s a little before noon, so you might as well get changed and head to his office now.”

“Get changed—?” You looked down at yourself, confused only for a split second before you realized just how much of a mess you’d made of yourself. The mud hadn’t spared a single inch of you, and your uniform was torn in a few places. “ _Oh_. Ok, yes, I should change—but do I have a spare set of clothes? These were borrowed from Petra.”

Almost before you’d gotten the chance to finish your sentence Hange whipped out an extra pair of pants and a shirt, tossing them to you unceremoniously. “There you go!”

“Hange, where the hell were you even keeping these?” 

“A magician _never_ reveals her secrets.” 

“Ok, ew?”

“They were in my bag, relax.”

The two of you finally approached the door to your room, and you groped around in your pocket for a moment before finding your key and unlocking the door. Your room was dark since you’d left the curtains closed, and you shuffled awkwardly over to your dresser in the low light, dropping your key and the change of clothes onto it. Hange followed you inside and made a beeline for your window, drawing the curtains to let the light in. 

“Thanks Hange, you’re a lifesaver,” you said genuinely, sitting down on the edge of your bed and kicking off your boots one by one. Your right ankle was very, _very_ purple, and so swollen that it was kind of starting to resemble an eggplant. You grimaced, grabbing the bandages Lena had given you and reaching down to re-wrap the injury. 

“No worries. I’ll get you to the Commander’s office, then I have to be off. Keiji, Lauda and I are running some drills before dinner,” said Hange, leaning against the windowsill and stretching her arms above her head. She glanced down at your ankle as you pulled the wrap tight. “Yikes. Fell pretty hard, hm?” She joked, a knowing glint in her eye.

You finished the dressing and sat up with a grunt, resting one elbow on your knee. “Quite,” you said sarcastically, although you were grinning. “I hit a rock on my way down. Nearly busted my whole front row of teeth out.” You curled your lip as if to demonstrate that your teeth were, indeed, still intact. Hange barked out a laugh. 

“Wow, good thing your ribs took the hit for you.” Hange joked, and you snorted, reaching over to your dresser to grab the change of clothes. It took you some time to get dressed, since lifting your arms over your head hurt like a bitch and you couldn’t put any weight whatsoever on your right leg. After struggling for a few minutes with getting your left leg into your pants you finally succeeded, and you pulled your boots back on, using your crutch for support. 

“Alright. Do I look presentable?” You said, striking a pose and feigning a haughty look as Hange laughed. 

“Dashing. Come on, we don’t want to keep the Commander waiting.” 

After locking up your room the two of you set off deep into the heart of HQ once more, moving a bit faster now that you’d gotten used to walking with your crutch. Administrative offices were located all over the building, but the Commander’s was central, tucked away in an alcove a few hallways down from the mess hall. Hange led you to a tall mahogany door with a bronze nameplate fused into the wood reading _Commander Erwin Smith_. Seeing it made your stomach do a somersault, and you turned back to Hange uncertainly. “This is his office?”

“No, this is a different Commander Erwin Smith,” Hange replied with a cheeky grin, thumping you on the back encouragingly when she saw just how apprehensive you looked. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“If General Zackly is involved, it’s definitely not _nothing_ , Squad Leader.” You said with a wry smile, staring at the door to the Commander’s office ominously. A beat passed, then you shook the tension out of your arms, glancing back at Hange. “Okay, guess I can’t stand here forever, huh?” 

“Nope, and neither can I!” Hange replied, taking her goggles off and wiping them down with the hem of her shirt. “Lauda will skin me alive if I’m late again.” 

“Let’s hash a deal. You don’t get skinned alive, and I make it out of this meeting in one piece. Deal?”

“Deal.” 

“Same time for lunch?”

“You bet.”

With that, Hange turned and receded back down the hall, and you steeled your nerves, straightened out your face, and gently knocked twice at the door. “May I come in, Commander?”

“Of course.” 

You turned the handle and pushed the door open, pausing for a moment in the doorway to bow your head to the Commander. He waved you off with a smile, standing. “At ease. Please, sit.”

The room was of decent size, lined with file cabinets and various boxes of supplies—there were no windows, but the space was well-lit with lanterns hanging in every corner. At the center sat a heavy wooden desk with claw-feet, papers scattered across it haphazardly. Some of the papers were stuffed into folders that looked like they housed cadet records, others were more official looking, with broken wax seals and fancy letterheads like the ones your father mailed. The Commander’s quill laid next to a signed document. You sat in a straight-backed chair opposite to Erwin and leaned your crutch against the desk, folding your hands in your lap. 

“Thank you for meeting with me,” the Commander began, returning to his seat and settling forward with one elbow on the desk. His eyes were piercing—calculating, but kind as he met your gaze. “I hope your stay thus far has been enjoyable enough.”

“It has been,” you replied with a grateful smile. “I can’t thank you enough for the incredible hospitality you’ve shown.”

“Of course. It’s been our honor.” Erwin pushed some of the papers in front of him out of the way, clearing the center of his desk. “That’s part of the reason I wanted to speak with you.”

Ah. You felt a sinking feeling in your stomach at those words. You’d known this was coming since your first night in the castle. It had been over a week, and you were well aware your time with the Scouts would have to come to a close sooner or later. Supplies were low, times were tough—you felt guilty enough being an extra mouth to feed. 

“I understand. The Corps has done more than enough for me, Commander. I’ve looked into alternative housing, and I believe there’s a home for women just south of Trost, in Wall Maria.”

The Commander looked at you strangely. “...If you’re intent on taking your leave, I suppose I could talk to the Garrison to arrange for a convoy.”

Now it was your turn to look confused. You’d assumed this meeting marked the end of your stay—but the Commander seemed surprised you’d even mentioned leaving. “I’m sorry, is that not what you were about to suggest?”

“On the contrary. It’s become clear that you may be a permanent guest of the Survey Corps,” the Commander said seriously, folding his hands in front of him and resting his elbows on top of the desk. _A permanent guest?_ You stared at him, eyebrows furrowed deeply as you tried to make sense of what he was saying. “These are uncertain times. It may not be safe for you outside of these walls.”

You narrowed your eyes, thinking hard as you processed what he was implying. Slowly, you spoke, choosing your words carefully. “Commander, this insurrection...it seems that this is far beyond just my father.” You hardened your gaze, meeting the Commander’s eyes. “Something more is happening that I’ve not been made aware of.” 

The Commander’s face darkened considerably, the lines between his eyebrows deepening as he turned his eyes downward with a sigh. “...Intelligence is trickling in. Slowly. Even I am not yet aware of the full situation.” He leaned back in his seat and rubbed the bridge of his nose, and you suddenly noticed how tired he truly looked. 

“My father wasn’t the only person killed that night,” you said slowly, the pieces falling into place.

“He was not. The few children of those other families...they were not so lucky.” 

The two of you sat in silence for a long moment as you took in what he’d said. You stared hard down at the Commander’s desk, your brows pinched with concern. 

“What I mean to say is that your situation is fragile. You are, as unfortunate as it is, not safe in Sina. The Corps is extending your stay indefinitely, if you choose to accept,” Erwin said solemnly, seemingly having dropped all courtesies. You looked at him apprehensively, then gazed off at the wall behind him for a moment, lost in thought. 

“I accept. For now,” you replied simply, chewing the inside of your cheek restlessly. “However, I reserve the right to leave. The last thing I want to do is overstay my welcome.” 

“That’s settled, then. I assure you, you’re a well-respected guest.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

Another stretch of silence ensued as the Commander reached into his desk, shuffling around for a moment before finding what he was looking for and pulling it out. He laid a thin file down in front of you and indicated for you to open it. 

“This contains a few pieces of information you might find useful. As Squad Leader Zöe should have informed you, you’ll be meeting with a handful of representatives from the Military Police and the Garrison sometime in the near future to discuss your assets.”

“I see.” You replied, opening the file and casually reading the top page. _So that’s what the Military Police wanted with you._ They were no doubt dealing with the nasty after-effects of your father’s untimely demise. You had to be there to sort through the rubble. 

“Before that meeting, however, you’ll need to do one thing,” the Commander said grimly, and you flipped absently through the papers in the file, swallowing thickly when you realized what he meant. 

“His will,” you said, your voice heavy with grief. “I have to go to the house and retrieve my father’s will.” The Commander remained silent for a long moment, watching you closely as you stared down at the papers in the file he’d given you. 

“I’ll arrange for an escort to accompany you to your home within the next few days. There, you should bring back important documents and personal belongings,” he finally said, breaking the silence. 

“And the rest of the house?”

“It will remain under close guard.” 

You were satisfied with that answer. Slowly, you closed the file, straightening out your face and looking back up at the Commander with a faint smile. “That all sounds fine, Commander. If that’s all, I shouldn’t waste any more of your time.” 

The Commander watched you carefully, an almost imperceptibly faint sadness behind his eyes. “Of course. Thank you again for meeting with me. I know this is a difficult time.”

“It’s really alright. The least I can do is comply with local authorities. Sina knows their lives have been hell.”

“These are troubling times,” Erwin replied mirthlessly, standing and approaching his door. You followed suit, collecting the file he’d given you and using your crutch to get to your feet. The Commander opened the door for you and you shuffled out, turning to smile a bit more genuinely at him this time, not content to leave the conversation on such a bleak note.

“Regardless, thank you for your help and hospitality. I’m not sure if I’d be here today if it weren’t for you,” you said gently, and the Commander seemed to soften a bit, the ghost of a smile patterning his features. 

“Of course. I’ll send word as soon as I assign an escort.” 

With that, the Commander shut his door, leaving you standing in the hallway alone with nobody but your own thoughts for company. 


	6. Hemingway's Hills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Levi POV in this chapter! this was a fun one to write :) This chapter references historical events and figures. Obviously these people and places may not have existed in canon, but their mention doesn't throw a wrench in the trajectory of the story.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! <3

“You’d better not be peeking back there!”

“I’m _trying_ not to, but I keep hitting the walls!” 

“Be more careful!”

“ _My fucking eyes are closed,_ Hange!”

“Oops, forgot.”

Hange was dragging you by the hand through the halls of HQ with zero regard for your well-being, narrowly avoiding passerby and leading you straight into the walls as she skidded around corners. You hobbled close behind her, awkwardly stumbling with your crutch. 

It had been two days since your discharge from the infirmary. For the most part you’d spent the last 48 hours roaming the castle halls, lost in thought. Your meeting with the Commander kept you up both nights in a row tossing and turning. According to Oluo you were beginning to look like a witch, complete with raggedy hair and deep bags under your eyes. Hange joked that all you needed now was a cauldron and a broom, but even she was starting to get a bit worried about your rapidly deteriorating condition. The most excitement you’d had since your crash-landing was Hange barging into your room at six in the morning and shaking you violently, clamoring on about how she had a surprise for you.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner!” Hange said gleefully, veering sharply down another corridor and grinding to a sudden halt. You crashed headlong into her then regained your footing, still faithfully keeping your eyes shut. 

“Hange, I really hope this isn't some sort of elaborate prank,” you groaned, clutching your bruised ribs and leaning over with one hand on your knee, catching your breath. “ _God_ , I’m out of shape.”

Hange ignored you. “Stay right here. No peeking!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied sarcastically. 

You heard the sound of double doors opening, creaking ominously on their hinges like they weren’t used often. Hange’s footsteps reverberated as she entered the room, shuffling around for a moment. You heard the sound of drapes being drawn before the squad leader returned to the entrance, grabbing your wrist. 

“Keep ‘em shut! Take a few steps in,” said Hange, tugging you along. You did as told, reaching one arm out in front of you like a zombie to catch yourself in case you tripped over something. “Ok, ok, _now_ you can look.” 

It took a moment for your vision to adjust. The room was huge, with tall, arched ceilings and a pair of enormous sunburst windows taking up the far wall, letting in bright sunlight that lit the entire space. Heavy leather armchairs were scattered across the room, and at the center of the space sat a loveseat and a coffee table, with two elbow chairs positioned across from it. Paintings hung in every empty space on the walls, giving the room an eccentric, quaint feel to it. There was one feature, however, that stood out the most.

Lining all four walls and extending all the way up to the ceiling were sturdy oak shelves filled almost completely to the brim with books. 

Hange had taken you to a _library_. 

You stood stock-still for a moment, your mouth slightly ajar as you took in what was probably the most beautiful thing you’d seen since—well, the most beautiful thing you’d seen in a _long_ time. “Hange…holy _shit_!”

“It’s a wonder I didn’t bring you here day one!” She beamed, throwing her arms wide as if to emphasize the grandeur of the room. “I know you’ve been bored, so hopefully this’ll be enough to give you something to do, you know?”

“ _Enough for me to_ …Hange, are you _kidding_? This is incredible! The books—“ You suddenly snapped back to your senses, taking a stumbling step into the room and spinning 360 degrees. You realized with utter glee that the back wall was also lined with shelves. “There’s so _many_ of them!”

“It’s modest. Stocking the library hasn’t necessarily been our top priority, all things considered,” Hange replied, watching you with a grin that stretched ear to ear. You barely heard her, already sorting through the first shelf on your left, trailing your finger down the spine of an old botany textbook.

“Can I…can I read _all_ of these? I mean—are any off-limits? I suppose I’d have to take one at a time…” 

“Off-limits? One at a time—?” Hange stared at you like you’d grown two heads, then let out a bellowing laugh. “Of course not, you can take as many as you’d like. You can stay here all day for all I care, Sina knows how long it’s been since anyone’s touched some of these books.” 

You beamed, immediately grabbing the botany book and setting it down at the center table with a _thunk_. “Hange, I can’t thank you enough. This is better than anything I could’ve possibly hoped for.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m just glad someone’s putting these pages to good use. I didn’t know you were such an avid reader!”

“You wouldn’t believe it. I used to sneak out to get books from the library in Mitras,” you grinned, shaking your head. 

“Sneak out? Didn't peg you for the disobedient type,” Hange joked, approaching the loveseat in the center of the room and leaning up against the back of it. She rested both elbows on the upholstery. 

“My father was...traditional. I was encouraged to focus primarily on the ladies’ academy curriculum. Baking. Sewing. Silverware etiquette. That sort of thing.” You scrunched your nose up as though to emphasize that you weren’t the biggest fan of ‘that sort of thing’.

“That sounds unbelievably boring.” Hange replied, looking positively repulsed at the idea of silverware needing their own special set of manners. 

“It was.” You replied deftly, rolling your eyes at the mere memory. “The Academy girls were wonderful, really sweet, but I often wondered whether there were _any_ gears turning in their skulls.” 

Hange choked at that comment, doubling over with strangled laughter. She thumped her chest with her fist, coughing up spit. After regaining her breath she spoke again. “There must have been standard courses, though. Arithmetic?”

“Ah, yes, there were. They were opt-in, of course. Not required.”

“Then that’s not too bad. Which did you take?”

You flushed with mild embarrassment, rubbing the back of your neck. “All of them.”

“ _All of them_? How many were _offered_?”

“Goodness, Hange, _dozens._ Arithmetic up to multi-variable calculus, anatomy and physiology, biology, chemistry, physics, botany—” 

“How on Earth did you finish them all?” Hange cut in, guffawing at you.

“Well, they weren’t very _hard_ ," you replied, waving your hand in front of you as though to absolve yourself of any merit.

Hange looked at you thoughtfully now, rubbing her chin. “You know, sometimes when people think things are easy, it really just means that they’re very smart.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” you said with a bashful smile, averting your gaze and shaking your head. “Really—the courses weren’t in-depth. The Academy focused on churning out top-notch women of nobility. Teaching a few eager souls how the kidneys worked was certainly not their top priority.”

“Regardless,” said Hange, seemingly unfazed, “you love to learn. You seek knowledge at every corner, like myself.”

“That’s definitely high praise coming from you, Squad Leader,” you said modestly, although you swelled with pride at the compliment. A beat passed as you thumbed through a thin manual on identifying constellations. You set the book down on a growing pile next to one of the two armchairs positioned across from the loveseat. 

“I’ve got some old field journals in my lab that are collecting dust.” Hange began, breaking the silence. “I could bring them down here for you to take a look at, if you’re interested.” 

That piqued your interest. You looked up at Hange curiously, a glint in your eye. “Your original field research? You want me to read it?”

“I’m beginning to think you’d be an excellent lab assistant,” Hange replied slowly, as though she was testing the waters. A grin worked its way across your face, excitement bubbling up inside of you. 

“I’d be honored to help you research, but I worry I’d just slow you down. I know next to nothing about your work—do you really think I’d be helpful?” 

“You’re a fresh set of eyes. New perspectives, new ideas." Hange leaned over the back of the loveseat, pointing at you with a wink. “Tell you what, I’ll bring you some of my research—my office is bursting at the seams, I need to get rid of some dead weight as it is. Read it, then give me an answer. Sound good?”

Your day just kept improving. First the library, now an opportunity to read work by one of the most talented researchers the Walls had ever housed? You could barely contain your enthusiasm. “I’ll shake on that.” 

Hange’s face contorted into a maniacal grin, sunlight flashing off of the lenses of her glasses in such a way that she became somehow even more mad-scientist-esque. 

“Brilliant. Now, before I give you my field notes, perhaps I should give you a crash-course.”

...

You didn’t know quite how long Hange had stayed with you in the library that day. All you knew was that when the two of you arrived it was daytime, and by the time she left the sun had long since set.

After giving you what you believed was probably the world’s longest crash-course in Titan science, Hange left to meet with Squad 4 to complete last-minute preparations for a patrol mission the following day. She said she’d return eventually with her lab manuals, but knowing Hange it was unlikely she’d remember. You’d gone back to your room eventually, toting with you a mystery novel to read before you went to bed.

The following morning came, and Hange’s squad departed early in the morning for their regular patrol. Almost immediately after their horses disappeared into the forest you returned to the library—your boots were still wet with dew from the grass.

You didn’t mind that Hange had forgotten to bring her journals, because you were certainly not lacking in reading materials. The library wasn’t as vast as the triple-storied building in Mitras, but there were more than enough books to keep you busy for months. They were stuffed into every corner—books lined the shelves, some squeezed on top of and underneath the horizontal rows. Books sat in stacks on tables covered with dust. Some were hidden away in drawers or accidentally shoved between seat cushions. Books on books on books, everywhere you looked. It was like something out of your dreams.

It was also a very welcome distraction. For the past two days you’d been constantly sick to your stomach thinking about your less-than-pleasant meeting with the Commander. It was impossible to get it out of your head. In a matter of days you’d have to return to your home— _Sina_ , you weren’t sure you had it in you to keep your head about you. At night you still grappled with the horrible memories, the feeling of hot blood on your hands and the sound of Francis choking on his final breath. It was all so fresh. And yet.

You were the sole survivor on that dreadful night. Nobles lost their lives. Their _children_ lost their lives. You were, by some horrible twist of fate, the only successor who escaped with their life intact. A gnawing sense of guilt crept up to your throat, threatening to make you lose your lunch.

It was strange, thinking back to it. It felt far, far away, but somehow simultaneously too close for comfort. You’d carefully kept your distance from the memories for the last week and a half, opting to distract yourself with temporary conversations and spur-of-the-moment decisions.

It had been easier, at first, because you were meeting so many people. There was no time for thinking. Now that you’d settled into the new environment, it was increasingly difficult to outrun the anxious thoughts. The library was like a bottle of sweet mead. It warmed you from the inside, calmed the nerves. It gave you something else to think about, and you were happy for the distraction.

The first thing you’d noticed was that the library was unorganized. The books were mixed up, some vaguely associated with other books on the same topics, others placed haphazardly wherever they fit. You found a volume on diseases of the blood next to a manual detailing different horse breeds. You supposed it wasn’t important that the books were arranged according to some sort of system, but it definitely made finding things that much more difficult.

It looked like someone had attempted to organize the library by topic, but stopped after a couple of rows. At first you tried to pick up where they left off, but you kept getting distracted every time you stumbled across anything you found even vaguely interesting.

A book on the invention of cannons had you perusing illustrations for almost an hour. A fiction novel featuring a detailed full-color map on the inside cover held your attention for two more hours. You laid out a set of twelve leather-bound anatomy textbooks on the floor in a semicircle and sat cross-legged in the center, flipping through each one page by page. By the time you’d finished that, the sun had set, and you’d only successfully rearranged a dozen or so books. A task for another day, you supposed.

The stack of books next to your armchair had grown to hip-height, and you decided you might as well actually start _reading_ the books you’d chosen before the pile got too tall and toppled over.

The book on top was an adventure novel titled _Ruth Rider and the Scars of Six_. You made quick work of it, blazing through the three novels in the series at an almost blistering pace. Ruth Rider, as it turned out, was a detective. Her objective? Recover lost treasure.

As the trilogy progressed, however, Rider discovered that the Scars of Six were references to major historical events that caused the loss of insurmountable amounts of knowledge. Book burnings during the Qin dynasty; The loss of the libraries of Baghdad, Alexandria, and Ashurbanipal; The destruction of Aztec and Maya codices by colonizers. You wondered whether these places really existed before humanity succumbed to the titans, or whether they were fiction as well.

The next book in your stack was a handwritten lab manual detailing complex distillation procedures done with glass bottles, fire, and chemical compounds whose names were so smudged and faded with age that they were barely legible. (You set that one aside for later, wondering if Hange might find it useful.)

The following book was a true crime mystery novel. The one after that was a functional manual on the crafting of inkwells. Slowly but surely the stack of unread books to your left shrank, and a new pile of completed books on your right steadily grew.

You reached down and picked up the next book in your dwindling stack, idly flipping to the table of contents when suddenly you heard the _creeeeeeeak_ of the doors to the library. Had Hange returned from patrol already? You turned toward the source of the noise with an irritated look on your face, disgruntled at having been so rudely interrupted. Your eyes adjusted in the low light.

Standing in the doorframe was none other than Captain Levi, looking none too pleased to see you.

He was dressed in casual attire, sporting a button-up shirt with the top two buttons left undone and a pair of plain trousers. Instead of boots he donned simple black loafers. You blinked at him, still holding your book halfway open in your lap as he held your gaze with an inscrutable expression on his face. Finally, you spoke.

“Evening, Captain.” You said politely, sparing him a courteous smile. You vividly remembered how he’d helped you to the infirmary a few days prior, and your smile stiffened a bit. He seemed not to notice as he watched you, unconcerned.

“It’s nearly two in the morning.” Levi replied, entering the library and making a beeline for the shelves on the far left.

 _Two in the morning? Hadn’t the sun only just gone down? Surely it couldn’t be that late,_ you thought absently to yourself, watching the Captain sort through a small section of the shelf before pulling out a heavy, leather-bound book.

“I hadn’t realized it was so late.” You replied lamely, peering through the dim light of the lanterns to try and make out which book the Captain was holding. It was a useless cause, and you quickly abandoned it, redirecting your attention to the book you had in hand.

Whether or not Levi was right about the time, you weren’t tired, and the book in your hands was far too enticing to leave for another day. You settled back into the armchair, drawing one knee up and resting your book on it as you began to read the summary on the inside cover. You were vaguely aware of the Captain’s presence in the corner of the library, but you figured he’d take what he needed and be on his way eventually.

So it began. Your book was dusty and smelled of old paper—sweet, musky—but into the pages you breathed life. _A white-collar crime. A seemingly small-time burglar. A weary investigator grappling with insurmountable boredom_. Characters sprung to life, peeling off the pages. You’d already blown through the first chapter when you were unceremoniously torn yet again from the story.

 _Thump._ You looked up.

The Captain had taken a seat across from you on the upholstered loveseat, sitting with his legs crossed and the leather-bound volume he’d picked up lying open over his knee. You blinked at him once, unsure of what to say. Shit. You were under the impression he was going to leave after finding what he needed.

A beat passed. Levi paid you absolutely no heed, reading his book as though you weren’t even there. You watched him thoughtfully, deciding against saying anything and opting to continue reading.

At first it was difficult. For all of your training in keeping your head about you, sitting across from Humanity’s Strongest was utterly distracting. Eventually, however, his presence faded into the background. The man was quiet save for the occasional sound of pages flipping.

You wondered briefly what he was reading. From the look of the book, it was most likely a textbook, or some sort of encyclopedia. Informational. Non-fiction. Perhaps he wanted to learn about something. Unless he was reading for leisure? You flipped to the next page of your novel, lost in thought.

Hours passed. The library was dead silent. You finished the novel.

It took you a moment to come to after reading the final page. You stared down at the back cover of the book, tracing the testimonials printed on it.

 _Child of Cain_. It was a standalone volume, not part of a series, but you almost felt like you’d somehow missed something while reading. The story felt incomplete, the character arcs left unresolved, the mystery far from lucid. You stared blankly down at the book, feeling unsettled. Perhaps it was the author’s style. You couldn’t be sure unless you read the rest of his works.

You set the book on your ‘finished’ pile, then reached down to grab the next book you’d chosen to read. Your hand closed on air. Peering down, you realized that there was nothing left of the hip-high tower of books you’d picked out earlier that day. You’d finished every single one of them. At this rate you’d read through the whole library in a matter of weeks. Hange might have been on to something when she offered the position of lab assistant to you—seeing as you’d blown through a dozen books in a day you’d likely fly through her lab manuals with little trouble.

The sound of a page being flipped cut through the silence. You were swiftly reminded that you were not the only person in the library.

Levi still sat across from you in the loveseat. He had one finger placed halfway through the book, as though he was holding his place. You took a moment to look at him critically now, following the way his dark hair fell over the front of his face, the tilt of his nose. His downturned eyes just barely caught the lanternlight, glowing a subtle blue-grey.

You tore your gaze from him with some difficulty, swallowing thickly. Your chest felt tight, like you’d forgotten how to breathe. Strange.

He was young, but his time with the Corps had visible effects. Shadows darkened the softer curves of his face, endowing him with age. You’d noticed the same effect with the rest of his squad. Petra’s cheery disposition and kind eyes thinly veiled deep sorrow. Eld and Gunther fared worse, carrying themselves with a sort of quiet exhaustion. You suspected even Oluo’s incessant bragging was a coping mechanism—a way to grasp at some sort of control in a world where there was little of it to spare.

It was a bitter reminder that they were soldiers before anything else. Theirs was a deadly work. It was a wonder any warmth still existed within these walls.

You stared somberly at the pile of completed books to your right. It was late. Perhaps nearly morning. You wanted to be awake to talk to Hange about her research as soon as she returned from patrol the following day.

The library was quiet. You stood silently, leaning on your crutch and collecting the books you’d completed into your arms, then moving past the Captain’s seat to return them to the shelves. In the process you began to organize them, placing the mystery novels in close proximity to one another. Tomorrow you’d be sure to make more progress in rearranging the rest.

The last book was returned to its place. You stood for a moment, then returned to where you’d placed the mystery novels, tracing your finger over the volumes before settling on _Child of Cain_ once again. You deftly picked it up. Perhaps a second read would resolve some of your questions.

Promptly you turned to exit the library, only to stop short in the doorway. You glanced back at your company, sparing the Captain another polite smile. “Goodnight.”

With that you left, flipping to the first page of the paperback once more and beginning again as you receded down the hall, back to your room.

...

Levi hadn’t expected to see her here.

Frankly, he hadn’t expected to see her at all, but the guest seemed to enjoy turning up in places where she did not belong.

The first surprise was finding her behind the hangar, blue-lipped, covered in mud and nearly passed out. White lies were harmless, and Levi knew one when he heard one. It was one thing to lie in defense of oneself. It was another thing altogether to lie unprovoked.

No, Levi couldn’t say that he had much appreciation for liars, but he held in somewhat high regard her commitment to upholding her own pride. It was either a skill or the result of years of utter stupidity. He didn’t know which was worse. 

The second surprise was finding her in the library. No doubt Hange brought her here. Better inside than out, Levi supposed. If it meant she didn’t attempt the 3DMG and hurt herself again, he wasn’t opposed to her occupying the library. 

Right. The 3DMG. Levi stood in the far left corner of the room, squinting in the low light to find the book he’d been reading. It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together upon finding the guest battered and bruised on the forest floor. From there he had two options.

He could tell her off. Berate her for doing what the Commander had explicitly deemed off-limits. However, at worst that would encourage her to act out of turn again. She’d gotten lucky with the 3DMG once, but the gear was often unkind to beginners. Instead, he opted to let her come to her own conclusion. Indeed, one’s own conscience was usually a better guide. 

Levi found his book. It was a collection of fourteen short stories by Ernest Hemingway titled _Men Without Women_. Levi found he rather enjoyed Hemingway’s short sentences and punchy gag lines. He turned to sit.

The guest had unknowingly taken his usual seat, sitting with one knee drawn up and her nose in her book. No matter. Levi settled in the loveseat at the other end of the coffee table, finding the place where he’d left off and beginning to read.

She was a strange case. When he told her it was past midnight he’d half expected her to get up and leave. To his surprise after acknowledging him she simply continued reading. Levi observed her now, absentmindedly creasing the top right corner of the page he was on. 

Her face was regal, pride patterning her features. She wore a stony expression—unfriendly, but shrewd. Pensive. It was a guarded expression. Levi wondered whether it was taught or if she was born with it.

It was also, Levi noted, the same expression she wore the other day, out in the forest. Hers was an unyielding face, one that scarcely gave away her injuries. 

The guest was interesting, to say the least. Her demeanor was consistent with nobility background but was laced with remarkable wit. Levi recognized it the day she arrived, strikingly calm despite the blood on her hands and dress. He turned back to his book.

 _Hills Like White Elephants_ was one of the short stories published in _Men Without Women_. It was a story without a conclusion, one that left the reader to their own devices. Levi supposed he could decide for himself what the outcome of the story was, but ultimately there would be no way of knowing whether his analysis was correct. Levi constantly found himself forced to make judgement calls, and quite frankly he wasn’t all too keen on deciding the story’s fate. He preferred to leave it a mystery.

He finished _Hills Like White Elephants_. A beat passed. After a moment his thoughts wandered back to the woman seated across from him. It irked him how easily she seemed to occupy his thoughts. 

Although he was someone who generally liked time to himself, Levi found he didn’t mind her presence in the library. Her hair lay over her shoulders, a few wayward strands falling in front of her face as she read. Her eyes were intense even in the low light. 

She was beautiful. Levi hated to even think it. 

It was an unfortunate truth. The woman was striking. It was less of a subjective observation than it was an objective truth—at least, that's what Levi was telling himself. Knowingly or otherwise, the guest commanded attention—whether she simply ignored that attention or she somehow was stupid enough to be oblivious to it, he couldn’t say. He turned his gaze back to his book once more, still deep in thought. 

She was beautiful, and he decided to pretend, for his own sake and for hers, that she wasn’t.

It was a difficult thing to pretend. Levi wouldn’t waste his time with mental acrobatics, so he pushed whatever he thought of the guest as deeply into the far reaches of his mind as he could. Frankly, he had more important things to worry about. Supplies were tight. Erwin worried over formations and crunched numbers in his spare moments, preparing for the Scouts’ 54th expedition outside of the walls. This woman's presence, on top of everything else, seemed too perfectly timed. He made a mental note to speak with Erwin about the circumstances of her arrival.

Levi heard the guest get to her feet, the sound of her wooden crutch gently scraping the floor with every step. She began placing books back onto the shelves. He refocused. 

A short stretch of silence ensued before her voice cut through the quiet. “Goodnight.” 

Levi turned to look at her and was instead met with an empty doorframe. He sighed.

He flipped to the next story in the book, _An Independent Organ_ , and began to read.


	7. Lavender Tea, Friends in High Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I just wanted to thank everyone for all of the kudos <3 I so very much appreciate the positive response to this fic, and hope you will be with me for the journey as we enter canon!

If you died of sleep deprivation, it would be one hell of a way to go out. 

Over the next few days you spent hours on end in the library, frequently awake into the early hours of the morning. It happened on more than one occasion that sunlight began to filter in through the windows without you having slept a wink. You had no complaints, though—you'd spend the rest of your life in that library if it kept your mind off of your circumstances. All things considered, you certainly welcomed the distraction.

“Look who decided to show up! Run out of books to read?”

“Don’t get too excited, Oluo, I’m just getting some tea.” 

Squad Levi sat around one of the round oak tables in the dining hall, already having eaten dinner. The Captain himself was predictably absent. You chalked it up to another long meeting with the Commander about the upcoming expedition.

“Like hell you are!” Petra scolded, tapping the tabletop insistently. “Sit down and eat, I doubt you’ve had a real meal in days.” 

“Petra taking Oluo’s side? Now I’ve seen it all,” teased Gunther, leaning back in his seat and sipping at his tea. You took an empty chair and dragged it around to the opposite end of the table, taking a seat per Petra's request. Eld appeared from the kitchens, holding a kettle still blowing steam from its spout. He set it down on the wooden table with a _clunk_ , then took a seat across from you with a polite smile.

“Hah! Like I’d ever,” Petra retorted, leaning forward in her seat and feigning concern, “if I ever willingly agreed with that goof, I ought to get my head checked out.” 

“Petra darling, you wound me!” Said Oluo, mournfully. Petra hitched an eyebrow at him.

“Well, if you wanted me to wound you, I’d be _glad to_ —“

“Knock it off, you two, before Captain Levi shows up and hands it to the both of you,” Eld interjected as he settled back in his seat, looking just about ready to burst at the seams. You reached over to the center of the table for the kettle and poured two cups of tea. Steam curled over the lip of the teacups. You set the kettle back down carefully.

“Tired?” You asked, glancing over at Eld with a sympathetic smile as Petra and Oluo bickered at the far end of the table. Gunther joined the two of you, sliding his chair around to Eld’s side of the table.

“I’ll live,” Eld replied heavily, reaching over after you and picking up one of the teacups with an appreciative hum. "Thank you."

During teatimes spent with Squad Levi you’d learned that you quite enjoyed Eld’s company. He was, to the best of your knowledge, somewhat of a veteran soldier. He was gruff, and not very talkative to boot—all of that aside, you were surprised to find that the two of you seemed to get along just fine. You couldn't help but feel badly that you'd ever expressed distaste for the man, but you supposed it was simply a side-effect of your circumstances.

“I assume things are busy with the 54th expedition so soon,” you said thoughtfully, holding your teacup in both hands and lifting it to your lips. 

“Commander Erwin has been perfecting his long-range scouting formation,” Eld replied, leaning back in his seat. “It’s genius, but heavily coordinated. We’ve had our work cut out for us getting maps and information to the recruits before we depart,” he finished. You gently furrowed your brows.

“Sounds difficult to maintain. Long-range...I suppose that means scouts are scattered over some distance to cover more ground?” You asked, more to yourself than to either of the scouts seated across from you. Eld and Gunther looked at you with some surprise.

“Well, you certainly caught on faster than I did,” Gunther joked halfheartedly. “I’ll admit, when I first heard it, I thought it was madness.”

“As did I,” Eld added, sipping at his tea. “The scouts have strength in numbers, so splitting our already-thinned ranks into small groups seemed like a death sentence.”

“Well, it _is_ a death sentence without a good way to communicate,” you replied, leaning forward and resting both elbows on the table. “How do you know what’s happening in the outlier squads?”

“Smoke signals. Different colors send different messages. The Commander directs the entire legion by firing signals at angles, indicating a change in course,” Gunther explained. You hummed thoughtfully, taking another sip. 

“And if one of them is wiped out?” You asked, lifting an eyebrow doubtfully.

“Well, you’d better hope they sent a signal. Otherwise, we keep moving,” Gunther replied with a one-armed shrug. "Ultimately we aim to avoid engaging our gear."

“With all due respect, that's an extremely fragile plan,” you said, pursing your lips. “There are no failsafes. One flank’s misstep could spell failure for the entire mission. Is that a risk Commander Erwin is willing to take?” 

“You’ll find you’re not the only one with that question,” replied Eld with a weary smile, finishing off the last of his tea. He poured a second cup.

...

Squad Levi cleared out of the mess hall, going their separate ways for the night. You considered going to find Hange to ask about her lab manuals but ultimately wound up right back at the library, knee-deep in books you hadn’t read yet.

Much to your surprise, Levi returned the next day. You realized he likely spent much of his time in the library alone before you so rudely invaded the space. For all you knew the room might have been the one place he'd had to himself—headquarters certainly wasn't an easy place to find peace and quiet, as you'd swiftly noticed during your time as a guest. Because of that, you made it a point to read quietly, without disruption. It seemed Levi was content to do the same. The night began just as it had before.

“Good evening, Captain.”

“It’s morning, at this point.” 

—followed by hours of silence, then a garden-variety farewell.

Those exchanges were the extent of your conversation. You didn’t necessarily mind—if anything, you were glad for it. As much as you loved Hange, she’d talk both of your ears off if given the chance. Dinner with Squad Levi was a similar story what with Oluo’s nonstop prattling. The corps was a lively place, much more so than you'd imagined it to be, and lively places didn't quite suit you—nor did they appear to befit Captain Levi. 

You weren't sure what had given you the impression that he would visit the library every night just as you did, but when he failed to appear the next day you found that you almost missed his quiet company. You should have expected as much from someone so busy, but you caught yourself waiting for the door to open on one too many occasions. Disappointment settled low in your gut against your will and better judgement. 

_Disappointment_. What the hell was wrong with you? You beat that feeling back like a wild beast, pinching the bridge of your nose. Your relationship with the Captain was much like yours with Commander Erwin—strictly professional. If anything, you were indebted to both of them. No, Levi had no obligation to you, _nor_ to this stupid library. You were in no position to be disappointed that he hadn’t shown.

It looked like he was slated to forego an appearance tonight as well. It was getting quite late, and the Captain had yet to arrive. It shouldn’t have mattered to you, and yet.

You huffed out a short breath through your nose, shaking your head subtly to yourself. At least this way you’d be able to reorganize the next section of the library in peace. 

You set about the job, leaving your crutch leaned up against the coffee table at the center of the room and hobbling over to where you’d left off. The right wing of the library now housed all non-fiction books, organized in alphabetical order by topic. It had taken a week's worth of work, including multiple bouts of reordering and undoing everything you'd completed, but you were satisfied with the system you'd drawn up.

At first, you considered arranging the books by author, but decided for functionality’s sake to group by subject. A scout looking for information on first-aid would wade through authors’ names for hours before finding what they needed. Sorting the books by type and topic would streamline the research process—non-fiction on the right, then skip past ‘A’ through ‘E’ to find ‘F’: First-aid.

You got yourself into a rhythm, counting the titles and switching volumes around to better suit the order. There were two books on ventriloquism, and you placed them carefully in the row that housed the letter ‘V’. Added to the collection was _Vibrato: Techniques and How to Perfect It_ , and a short search confirmed that there were no other books under that letter. Next came ‘W’. 

The doors to the library opened noisily, creaking on their hinges.

You supposed ‘W’ would have to wait.

“Evening, Captain.”

Levi hummed in response, wasting no time in finding his book and taking a seat. You were only pleased for a moment before the feeling was extinguished, and you returned begrudgingly to your shelving. You began sorting through a stack of ‘W’ books at your feet to find the first alphabetically. _Watchmaking, the Craft_ was the first to join the shelved books. 

_Not a very warm greeting,_ you thought absently to yourself, reaching for the next book in the pile, _Wildflower Species of Wall Maria_. You pushed it in next to the watchmaking manual. 

_Remember your place,_ you scolded, _what does it matter what he says to you?_

True as it was, you had trouble being blasé. You painstakingly swallowed your pride once again, refocusing on the task at hand. The next book was on woodworking. You shoved it between _xylophones_ and _wildflowers_ a bit more forcefully than you’d intended.

Right. Maybe that was enough ‘W’ for one night.

You gently pushed the remaining stack of books on the floor to one side using your foot, then returned to the center of the room. Per usual, Levi sat silently to one side of the loveseat, legs crossed, his chin propped on his fist as he read. You tore your gaze from him, disgruntled.

Courtesy of Hange Zöe, four dusty lab manuals sat idly on the coffee table. You took the first from the pile, turning away from Levi and blowing the dust off of the cover. Hange’s chicken scratch signature was scrawled across the spine of the book, weather-worn and oxidized. This set of notes must have been the oldest; you could tell by the discoloration of the cover and the way the ink bled from the label Hange had pasted to the back. You settled back into your armchair, opening to the inside cover.

The pages of the manual had suffered the damage of time as well. They were yellowing, strange liquids and blots of ink dotting the margins. You wrinkled your nose a bit, careful not to touch any strange brown stains. It looked like Hange had written her notes with titan blood still all over her hands. You held the book close to your face, trying and failing to decipher a hastily scribbled note at the periphery of the first page. 

And then, as it often did, your mind wandered right back to the man sitting across from you.

You’d been curious about the book Levi was reading ever since the first night. At first, you thought it was an encyclopedia, but he seemed to always pick up where he left off, which made you think the book was fiction. Either he was reading a story, or he was reading an entire dictionary from start to finish. You figured the former was the likely case.

He wasn’t a very quick reader, either. While you blazed through novel after novel in a matter of hours, Levi read like he had all the time in the world. You wondered whether he was reading slowly on purpose because he didn’t want to finish the book.

You flipped absentmindedly through Hange’s notes. The fourth page was nearly blank except for one haphazardly written sentence and a very, _very_ rough drawing of a titan’s bulbous head. You flipped past several other entries. The 17th page was full to the brim, notes spilling over into the margins, long-dried droplets of kerosene causing the ink to run. A short paragraph at the bottom was hastily scribbled out.

Levi flipped to the next page of his book, the sound cutting through the silence. You found that no matter how you tried to rationalize it, you were somewhat irked with the Captain. The man hadn’t an ounce of tact in his body. You’d long moved past conversation, but you really thought at the very least he’d say _hello_. The bar was in Hell. If you weren’t on the receiving end of the treatment you might’ve even thought it was funny. You took a measured breath in through your nose.

And then, against your better judgement, you decided to speak.

“It seems you enjoy the quiet.”

Silence befell the library. Levi kept his eyes trained on his book as if you hadn't said a word, although you knew perfectly well he heard you. Of course. You expected as much. You settled back into the armchair, crossing your legs like your father used to tell you to and resting Hange’s manual in your lap.

"I rarely talked to anyone before coming here, so I'm accustomed to silence,” you continued, keeping your eyes focused squarely on your book rather than looking up at him. Your voice softened, becoming gentler. "You and I have that in common."

There was a brief pause. Levi’s gaze shifted up to you for a moment before he looked back down.

“That’s probably the extent of what we have in common,” he replied dully. You snorted, glancing over at him with an eyebrow raised.

“You might be right about that,” you said good-humoredly, taking his response in stride. Tough crowd. You returned to the manual. Into a deep silence the library plunged once more.

After some time the lantern sitting on the table sputtered out, burning the last of its oil dry. You stood to re-light it, carefully transferring some of the oil from the lantern hung in the doorway into the emptied fuel canister. The deadened wick flickered to life, the flame casting a warm, orange glow over your face. You reached up to return the second lantern to its place in the doorway.

“Your father,” Levi suddenly spoke, turning to the next page of his book. “Seems like he was pretty close to the King, no?”

You turned from where you stood near the entrance to the library, peering over at him curiously. A strange question. Not a very apt one, to boot. “To an extent, yes. He was a member of the King’s inner council,” you replied simply, carrying your lantern back to your seat and placing it gently down on the coffee table.

“He was an important man, then. Loomed large in Mitras, or so I’ve been told,” Levi said cooly. You blinked, your brows pinching as you watched him carefully. You became wary. One moment the man was dead silent, the next he was asking about your late father? Of course, there was the possibility he was genuinely curious, but something told you the Captain didn’t like making small-talk. You narrowed your eyes carefully at him, settling back into your seat.

“I suppose he did,” you said slowly, watching the Captain critically as he flipped through his book. He appeared unconcerned.

“A miracle you survived,” Levi continued, looking up at you now with an air of indifference. You met his gaze head-on, feeling unease rising in your gut. Surely he wasn’t trying to make conversation—and if he was, he was doing a bloody awful job of it. No, that couldn't be it. _What was he playing at?_

You measured your next words with great care, treading lightly. “I’m thankful Commander Erwin found me when he did,” you replied, “no doubt I’d be six feet under otherwise.”

“Pretty convenient that he did, then, don’t you think?” Levi mused, the flame from the lantern on the coffee table flickering in his steely eyes. He watched you for a reaction. Your face darkened considerably.

“I hope you aren't implying that I had something to do with all of this,” you said lowly, your temper igniting in the pit of your stomach.

Levi looked at you impassively, one eyebrow raised. “I wasn’t, but now that you mention it, you’d be a prime suspect, wouldn’t you?” He replied calmly, returning to his book without so much as a second glance at you.

You fumed, pride bubbling up in your chest. “I see. That’s just what you wanted me to say, was it not?” You said coldly, eyes narrowed. “How _dare_ you. My father was killed. I nearly was as well. You have no right to accuse me of something so vile.”

“I have every right to ask simple questions,” Levi said dully, almost sounding bored. “I never accused you of anything, you said it yourself.”

“I understand your caution, Captain,” you cut in, snapping Hange’s manual shut. “When troubling times are afoot it’s often best to keep one eye open at all times. _However_ ," you stood from your seat, looking down your nose at Levi with a stony expression, “I will not tolerate incriminating claims made against _me_ or my family. Be well aware of that.”

Levi met your eyes, watching you with firm resolve. “No need to be uncivil. It certainly won't help your case.” His words carried an air of finality with them, like he’d decided he was done with the conversation. You bristled.

“I have no case to be helped,” you replied brusquely, meeting him with a fiery look, “and I will not be treated like evidence to be presented to a jury.”

You turned on your heel and left the library.

...

“Oh, that’s right. It looks like I’ll be your escort to Mitras tomorrow,” Eld said the following day, looking up from the map he was reading over, “per Commander Erwin’s orders. Should be a day trip. We’ll leave soon after dawn to get an early start, though.”

You and Eld sat across from each other in the mess hall, both of you having missed dinner. Eld had a good reason—he was busy distributing updated formation logs to one of the satellite survey corps compounds East of Stohess district. You, on the other hand, had fallen asleep in the library. Thankfully, a certain Captain hadn’t shown his face. All the better.

“Sounds like fun,” you replied, sipping idly at the tea you’d experimentally brewed. You crinkled your nose, peering down into the teacup. “Added too much lavender. Damn, don’t you scouts have anything other than black?”

“Count your blessings. At this rate we’ll be lucky if we get tea bags in the next shipment at all,” Eld said wearily, dipping his quill into the ink and scratching a note into the margins of the map.

“The Captain won’t be happy about that,” you joked. Eld snorted, a faint smile breaking its way through his exhaustion.

“That he won’t.”

A long stretch of silence ensued, the only sounds the occasional _clink_ of silverware and the faint scratching of Eld’s quill. You sipped quietly at your tea, deep in thought. Tomorrow was the day you’d return home, then. Nearly three weeks after the murder. Your stomach churned. The tea was certainly not helping.

“Nervous?” Eld said surprisingly gently, breaking the silence.

“Something like that,” you replied sourly, picking at your nails idly to distract yourself. He set down his quill.

“It’s only natural. Not necessarily a pleasant return home,” he said, looking over at you somewhat sympathetically.

You smiled ruefully, meeting Eld's gaze. “Not quite. Commander Erwin gave me a file with some names and information. It looks like a real estate agent and my father’s estate administrator will be present. From there, I’ll have to sort through the documents—his pronouncement of death, the mortician’s certificate, and my father’s will.” You stopped short, growing solemn at the necessary next step. “And then, of course, I’ll need to plan a funeral.”

“Hey,” Eld cut in, tapping the table, “cross that bridge when you get to it. No reason to dwell on things that can’t be helped.”

“The bridge is upon me,” you replied wryly, staring down into your tea with a pensive expression on your face, “I’ll have to settle the estate before anything else can be done. And the funeral shouldn’t wait.”

Eld huffed sharply through his nose in defeat, picking up his quill once again. “Well, seeing as the interior police are in no rush to have you returned to Mitras, I’d say time is on your side." 

You laughed genuinely at that, eyes crinkling playfully as you raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you want me gone!”

A smile tugged at the corners of Eld’s mouth as he focused on his map, making a point of not looking up at you. “Now, I didn’t say _that_ ,” he replied roguishly, pressing his lips together. “Your words, not mine.”

“Right,” you chuckled, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms over your chest. Your tea had gone cold, sitting half-finished on the table. Eld circled one of the squadrons on the map and set the quill down once again.

“It’s getting late. I need to drop this off with the Commander,” he said as he stood, taking the map into his hands and rolling it up. He looked at you thoughtfully, as though he was considering something, then he jerked his head in the direction of the exit. “Walk with me?”

The two of you left the dining hall after returning your teacups to the kitchens, falling into stride side by side as you made your way to the Commander’s office. The sound of distant footsteps echoed through the stone corridors, boots on the ground all over the compound. The air buzzed with anticipation.

In two days the legion would depart from Wall Rose en-route to Shiganshina, exiting Wall Maria through the southernmost gate. The 54th expedition, the first in almost two years, would be underway. It was hardly a simple feat—from what you’d learned, Commander Erwin had made a handful of empty promises to ensure the crown would finance the mission. Now, he’d be expected to fulfill them. This was often how the Commander dealt his hand, Eld told you.

You didn’t prefer gambling with lives. It was entirely different when playing the ponies only cost money—but hedging bets at the cost of lives? You wondered how Erwin stomached the guilt when his wagers fell through. As unfortunate as it was, you figured that was the burden of commanding a force that so often sent its members to their deaths.

Eld walked by your side, tapping the rolled-up map against the palm of his hand.

“Nervous?” You asked with a gentle smile, just as he had earlier.

Eld faltered for a moment, then straightened out his face. “No. It’s a straightforward mission, and I trust the Commander’s plan,” he replied, unconcerned, although the apprehension was apparent in the pinch of his brows.

“You know, you’re allowed to feel nervous _despite_ trusting Commander Erwin’s plan,” you said gently, peering over at Eld. His shoulders slumped a bit.

“I know,” said Eld, exhaling. “Regardless, it’s risky business. It doesn’t matter how prepared you think you are—you can train all day and night, bust your ass perfecting the skill. Once you’re out there? It’s life or death. Even our best soldiers throw caution to the wind.”

You exhaled gently, feeling sorry that you couldn’t be much comfort. “Well, it would be pointless for me to try and speak on what it’s like outside of the walls,” you said carefully, so as not to step on any metaphorical toes. “But from what I know, you trust your team, and you trust yourself. By those means, you’re as prepared as you can possibly be.”

Eld looked over at you now, a surprisingly kind expression on his face. “Of course, you’re right.”

The two of you stopped in front of the Commander’s office. A metal letterbox was nailed to the wall to the left of the door, and Eld unfurled the maps before sliding them in one at a time. The metal hatch closed. He sighed.

“I suppose the Commander’s not here?” You asked, peering at the closed door.

“Probably not. He’s likely with Captain Levi visiting our supply house in Trost to ensure they’ve prepared enough gas for the trip,” Eld replied. You hummed in response.

The hallway was quiet for a moment. Eld looked at you, smiling faintly. “It’s good having someone like yourself here, you know."

You shot him a funny look, raising an eyebrow. “How so?”

Eld hummed thoughtfully. “It’s all too easy to get caught up in the one-liners and the repetition. ‘Give your all’. ‘Dedicate your heart’. You’re a good reminder that the world still turns outside of the Survey Corps,” he said seriously.

You looked at him, surprised at the sentiment. “I suppose I’m glad I can be of some help,” you quipped, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Then, as though it were an afterthought—“Although the world would still turn with or without me." Eld shrugged his broad shoulders.

“People die every day. Inside the walls, outside the walls, it’s all the same. We meet our maker one way or another. Best not to let ourselves get too tied up in how or when.”


	8. Logs 1, 4, and 17: Albert and Chicacchironi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trying something new with this chapter! Hange is one of my favorite characters to write and explore, so I hope you all enjoy this little adventure into her mind.

Log 1 |

timestamp: 0930

Berner and I have acquired two test subjects. They’re being kept in the empty compound just north of Trost district—incredible, really—it took nearly two dozen ropes to keep one of them held down, nasty bastard didn’t want to take a nap without putting up a fight. The other slept like a baby, the little sweetheart. I tried to pet his cute little head, but alas, he nearly bit my hand off. The short fellow will be referred to as Albert from here on out. The other is Chicacchironi.

 ~~Reserve energy: movement at night?~~ No clearance from Levi.  
~~Stomach capacity check.~~ No clearance from Levi.  
~~Salivary analyses~~ No clearance from Levi.  
~~Dental analyses~~ No clearance from Levi.

timestamp: 1720

Sleep logs: Albert  
Day 01: 2 hours from sunset.  
Day 02: 2:11 from sunset.  
Day 03: 1:32 from sunset.  
Day 04: 6:03 from sunset (???).  
Day 05: 1:57 from sunset.  
Day 06: 2:01 from sunset.

Sleep logs: Chicacchironi  
Day 01: To sunrise.  
Day 02: To sunrise.  
Day 03: To sunrise.  
Day 04: To sunrise.  
Day 05: To sunrise.  
Day 06: To sunrise.

Seems to be an incredible range in the length of non-sunlight-fueled energy reserves. Albert averages out at approximately 2 hours after sunset, although day 04 was a bit of a shocker. Appears to be internal variation as well, which certainly complicates things. At any rate, it eliminates any plans for expeditions after nightfall, as we have no way to determine how many titans have nocturnal abilities. Blast. And here I was beginning to think we had a handle on a solid weakness. Ah, well.

timestamp: 2200

Dental analyses: Albert  
(note: _No_ clearance acquired from Levi to proceed. Experiments conducted without supervision.)  
#12, 1st bicuspid: Weighed in at 0.02 g. Evaporated shortly thereafter. Unable to tell whether the weight was impacted by its having been partially evaporated.  
#14, 1st molar: Weighed in at 0.01 g. Evaporated.  
#9, central incisor: Evaporated before weigh-in.  
#10, lateral incisor: Weighed in at 0.01 g.  
#27—

Dental analyses halted. Moblit nearly lost an arm holding Albert’s pretty little mouth open. 

Included below are diagrams of jaw structure and numerical organization. Albert had 30 teeth, all of which had similar structure to those found in a typical human mouth. He was missing the lower third molar on both sides—#32 and #17, respectively. No clear reason as to why those teeth were missing—maybe they were lost as baby teeth! Poor sweet angel, he’s still young!

Just as observed with all parts of the titan body, the teeth were no more durable than chalk. Paradoxically, they have the strength to crush a human body with little to no trouble, and yet upon removal from the jaw of a living titan they are feather-light and immediately evaporate into thin air. There was no time to prep slides to examine the biological material under a microscope, unfortunately.

* * *

Log 4 |

timestamp: 1500

Pain tolerance: Albert  
Point burning, hand: No reaction observed  
Point burning, shoulder: No reaction observed  
Point burning, foot: Mild discomfort observed  
Point burning, cheek: No reaction observed  
Point burning, sclera: No reaction observed  
Point burning, inner nostril: No reaction observed

Subject shows no visible signs of exhaustion. Subject shows no visible signs of having experienced pain whatsoever.

Pain tolerance: Chicacchironi  
Point burning, hand: _Extreme_ discomfort observed  
Point burning, shoulder: _Extreme_ discomfort observed  
Point burning, foot: _Extreme_ discomfort observed  
Point burning, cheek: _Extreme_ discomfort observed  
Point burning, sclera: _Extreme_ discomfort observed  
Point burning, inner nostril: _Extreme_ discomfort observed

Subject visibly exhausted. Respiratory rate increased.

timestamp: 2300

Chicacchironi has died.

* * *

Log 17 |

timestamp: 0100

We are taking great care to preserve the life of Albert for as long as we possibly can given the circumstances. It seems that titans which experience pain (or at the very least, react to pain) have a certain threshold similar to humans in that once the pain level surpasses it, they spontaneously die. I, unfortunately, pushed my dear Chicacchironi to the very margins of that pain threshold. I am the reason for his death. It pains me still. Nevertheless, we must push forward in the pursuit of knowledge.

Meniscus level: Syringe #4  
Day 01: 6.4 cc  
Day 02: 6.4 cc  
Day 03: 6.4 cc  
Day 04: 6.4 cc  
Day 05: 6.3 cc  
Day 06: 6.3 cc  
Day 07: 6.3 cc  
Day 08: 6.3 cc  
Day 09: 6.3 cc  
Day 10: 6.3 cc  
Day 11: 6.3 cc  
Day n: _6.3 cc_  
Sample deemed stable. 

Recently we’ve made great progress in the preservation of titan blood—by using a syringe to withdraw blood, I am capable of storing 5-10 ccs of liquid for extended periods of time. My most recent vial has remained stable in my office for two weeks now with no further substance loss, as detailed above. So long as the blood remains in the syringe, it appears that it will not evaporate—unfortunately, we’ve no way to keep the samples stable long enough to create slides. Regardless, it really does make a nice paperweight! 

It appears upon coming into contact with air, the blood undergoes some sort of chemical reaction. However, this reaction occurs much more rapidly than conventional reactions with oxygen. It’s a well known fact that iron reacts with oxygen to form rust, but that takes at the very least 4-5 days to occur. For a combustion reaction to occur in a matter of seconds? It’s unheard of. This leads me to believe that titan blood does _not_ react with oxygen. Thus, we return to square 1.

timestamp: 0320

I woke in a cold sweat with this thought: Does Albert not feel pain, or does he simply not react to pain?

The first option would necessarily mean that Albert does not possess a nervous system, a fact quite easily supported by the fact that titans’ heads are hollow. However, it would not explain how titans are able to “see”, “smell”, “hear”, or generally “react” to stimuli in their environment. 

A cockroach, for example, reacts reflexively to light, moving away from light sources involuntarily. Perhaps titans use a similar mechanism to locate their prey? Still, it’s far too easy to poke holes in this argument. If titans react to humans via reflex, then there is no explanation for why titans do not similarly attempt to consume horses, dogs, and cats. If titans depended solely on vision, they wouldn’t have the sense to smash into buildings to seek out hidden humans. If they depended on hearing, how would they differentiate the sound of a human from the sound of another animal? Ultimately, the lack of a titan nervous system is wholly unexplainable. 

Thus, Albert _must_ feel pain. There is no explanation for the lack of pain reception other than a complete absence of a nervous system, and this conclusion is far too absurd to even consider. So, the necessary truth must be that Albert doesn’t react to pain, although he feels it. This is disturbing. It implies that Albert feels and recognizes pain, but does not vocalize it.

timestamp: 0350

~~It’s difficult to conceptualize death. It’s especially difficult to come to terms with death when stares you in the face. The omniscient pain of losing people doesn't seem to ever go away. It's all-pervasive. Sometimes I wonder whether others feel this way or if, somehow, it's just me. Does it always stay like this?~~

Wrong journal. Probably a sign I should go to bed.

* * *


	9. A Father, a Body, a Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter! i'm getting a lot of plot exposition out of the way during the first part of this fic, so i hope you'll all bear with me :) 
> 
> as always, thank you for all of the amazing feedback, i'm so appreciative of all of your comments and kudos! <3

The carriage ride into Mitras was long.

Shortly before daybreak a very apologetic cadet found you asleep in the library, slumped over sideways with both knees hiked over the side of your armchair. You’d hoped it was only a bit past midnight, which would have given you a few precious hours of sleep before you departed in the morning. Much to your disappointment the sun was peeking through the windows of HQ before you even made it back to your room. 

And so you prepared for the day.

Hange’s experiment proved fruitful, and your gray gown was returned to you in one piece, good as new after being drowned in titan-clean. You were wearing it now along with your one pair of heels and your emerald necklace. To maintain some degree of professionalism your hair was done as best as you could manage without pins. You’d pulled it all back into a loose ponytail, although some strands were falling out. Eld gruffly said that you looked nice. You took it he was trying to be polite. 

Across from you now in the carriage sat Eld in his standard uniform. The two of you were certainly a sight to behold, dressed so differently. A curious set of children spotted your carriage at the outskirts of Mitras and wondered amongst themselves if you and Eld were getting married. You thought it was quite funny, although Eld became uncharacteristically flustered. 

Dirt turned to cobblestone as the carriage thundered along, stopping at a tollbooth for a brief moment before continuing into the main city district. You and Eld made small talk to pass the time. 

“Your captain’s quite friendly,” you said nonchalantly, peering over at Eld to gauge his reaction. He shot you a funny look before realization bloomed across his features, and he pressed his lips into a thin, amused smile. 

“ _Ah._ So it was you.”

You blinked, thrown off by his response. “Beg your pardon?”

“Captain Levi was in one hell of a mood a couple of days ago. Usually happens when someone pisses him off. Wasn’t Oluo this time, though.” Eld leaned back in his seat, hooking one arm over the headrest and lifting an eyebrow. “So, what did you do?”

You couldn’t quite hide the displeased look on your face at that. “I didn’t _do_ anything. He accused me of treason.”

Eld’s teasing demeanor all but disappeared. He regarded you warily. “Treason, hm? Well, he must have had a good reason. Levi doesn’t point fingers for the hell of it, you know,” he said slowly, like he was choosing his words carefully. Your lip curled.

“He accused me of treason simply for the fact that I am alive. Naturally, I didn’t take well to that. If he was put off by my defending myself then perhaps someone ought to teach him to not make baseless claims in the first place,” you responded simply, crossing your legs and resting an elbow on your knee. 

“Levi doesn’t make baseless claims.”

“So you think the accusation has merit?” You replied with an arched brow.

“It’s not my place to say. I don’t personally believe it, but I also have nothing but your word to go off of,” Eld shrugged. 

You pursed your lips, seeing his point. “And my word isn’t quite enough, then?”

“Don’t take it too personally,” Eld suggested, flashing you an apologetic smile. 

The carriage rumbled along, bouncing with every dip in the road. The pitch and yaw wasn’t doing much to settle your nerves, and you found yourself thinking about what Eld had said. 

It seemed you’d struck a chord with Captain Levi. Part of you almost felt bad, but frankly he should have known better than to fight fire with kerosene. The man wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot—had he expected you to take the accusation lying down? If so, well, then that was certainly his mistake. You couldn’t be bothered with his displeasure. 

Even so, you felt a twinge of guilt. Eld made a fair point; with only your account of what had happened on the night the Commander found you, it was difficult to ensure you weren’t lying. Levi was, at the end of the day, not entirely in the wrong for questioning you, as much as you hated to admit it. With a sinking feeling you realized your outburst likely made you look even less trustworthy.

The carriage stopped briefly while the driver spoke to a pair of Military Police. Eventually the topic at hand circled back to the day’s work. 

Eld leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. “Forgive me for asking, but your father’s will—do you know where it’s located?”

You knew your father kept finances in his study, and it was likely his will was there too. Even so, you weren’t keen on providing any details before you were up to speed. With your luck, the study had been ravaged at the hands of the rioters. 

“I have a hunch,” you answered. Eld watched you expectantly for a moment before turning away with a low hum, realizing you weren’t going to say anything else. 

“That’s good. Less searching, on our part,” he said.

“Well, let’s just hope the interior police didn’t gut the place. They did a massive sweep for intelligence after the murders,” you said grimly. Even if the study was intact, the search for your father’s documents might be more difficult than you thought it would be.

“I suppose we’ll see for ourselves,” Eld replied simply. 

As if on cue, the carriage ground to a halt. You peered out from behind the curtain.

The manor stood tall and proud at the center of the estate, just as it had three weeks prior. The gardens were in full bloom now, although the untrimmed hedges to either side of your front door were beginning to look a bit overgrown. A rope was tied between the pillars framing the entrance, and a sign was hung between them that read _NO ENTRY BY ORDER OF INTERIOR POLICE._

A handful of military police were idling at the perimeters of the estate, chatting amongst themselves and shooting wayward glances in the direction of your carriage. A saddled horse was tied to a fence post a few meters away. It seemed you were one of the first to arrive on-scene. 

“We’ve arrived?” Eld asked, leaning forward to peer out from behind the curtain as well. You nodded wordlessly, tearing your gaze from the front of the estate and turning at the sound of hoofbeats. 

“Looks like the estate administrator has arrived too,” you said, peering down the street to see another carriage not unlike yours slow to a halt in front of the cobbled path to your front door. A man with a briefcase stepped down and approached the entrance to the manor. Eld hummed, craning his neck to look the other way. 

“Place is crawling with MPs,” He grumbled under his breath, quietly enough so that only you could hear. 

“Likely for protection. The Commander mentioned they’d be here,” you replied, straightening out your gown. Let’s see—an attorney ought to be present, a mortician, a real estate agent, and your father’s estate administrator. Not to mention the handful of interior police on the premises. Altogether they totaled nine people, not counting yourself or Eld. 

Nine people. Nine perceptions of you, your family, and what little dignity your father’s legacy still clung to. 

Right. You’d have to ensure you saved some face, then. 

Your gaze hardened as you ironed out any wayward signs of apprehension etched into your features. Shoulders back, chin up, eyes forward. Eld was absolutely right—so long as your father’s will was where you thought it should be, the two of you should be able to be off of the property by midday. The sooner the better. You weren’t keen on lingering in the house any longer than you needed to. 

Eld was preoccupied, peering out from behind the tarp as the mortician arrived. “I see. In any case, I’ll be with you inside just to be sure everything is—“ 

He stopped short, staring at you slack-jawed like you’d materialized from thin air. A split second passed before he seemed to remember himself, and he cleared his throat. 

“Something the matter?” You asked. Eld shook his head, looking away from you with an odd look on his face. 

Francis used to call it your _transformation_. Usually, he said, you wore a pensive expression. He told you often that you looked just like your mother in her younger years, always deep in thought. Sometimes, though, you’d morph into something else entirely. _’Your face’_ , he‘d tell you, _’would turn to stone, like you could watch the world burn to the ground without so much as a twitch of your eyebrow.’_

You didn’t quite think that was true. A bit of an exaggeration on his end. Regardless, it was a useful ace up your sleeve. Rich men didn’t like a mean woman, and you were perfectly fine with not being liked if it meant you sidestepped political red tape and meaningless pleasantries. For a good portion of your life you were encouraged to speak only when spoken to. You decided you ought to do the world one better and make yourself entirely unapproachable in the first place. 

You straightened out your gown, then reached for the curtain. “Well, we can’t keep them waiting now, can we?” 

With one hand holding your gown up and away from your feet you stepped down from the carriage, hearing Eld follow suit. He spoke briefly to the driver of the carriage as you approached the front steps to the manor. 

Standing at the threshold to the foyer was a young man in a sharp suit with a mop of dark hair neatly combed back. His eyes were hazel-green, and from the looks of him he couldn’t have been too much older than yourself. The man did a double take, blinking uncertainly at you before remembering himself and jutting out a hand for you to shake. 

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said politely, flashing a toothy grin you took his hand and shook firmly, “I’m Evander Mock, your father’s estate administrator.” 

“A pleasure,” you replied. His hand lingered on yours for a bit longer than necessary. You gave him a funny look, and he pulled away, looking disheveled. 

“Right,” he said quickly, straightening back up, “It’s good to finally meet you—although I wish it had been under better circumstances.” 

“As do I, but we must work with the circumstances we’re given,” you replied politely, folding your hands in front of you neatly and indicating to Eld with a tilt of your head. “This is Eld Jinn, a member of the Survey Corps—I’m sure you’re familiar. He’s my personal escort for the day.”

Evander Mock exchanged a terse greeting with Eld. You gave him a tight-lipped smile. Charming. Estate administrators were always a nasty bunch, stuck-up and ostentatious. You were in no great hurry to exchange pleasantries with the man, so you made your way into the house, not waiting for him to catch up. 

“I’m sure you’re fully aware of all that we’ll need to straighten out today,” Mock began, following much too closely at your side as the two of you entered the foyer. He brandished a small stack of papers. “I won’t bore you with the details. Of course, it’s only respectful to allow you to conduct personal business first. Please, take all of the time you need.” 

You accepted the papers without thanks, flipping through them for a moment before looking back up at the estate administrator. “Thank you. If all goes well, I won’t be taking much of your time.” 

The three of you—Eld, Mock, and yourself—stood at the entrance to the kitchen and tearoom. You channeled your nervous energy into picking at your cuticles, keeping your face as emotionally neutral as you possibly could. The last thing you wanted was for this Evander Mock to see you unnerved. 

The man bowed his head, then indicated in the direction of the front door. “I’ll take my leave, then. Mr. Müller will be arriving shortly.” He then discreetly checked his watch before turning back to you with thinly veiled impatience. “Please, join us when you’ve acquired your father’s will and testament.”

You met his eyes with a cold frown, irked at his pushy attitude. “I will join you when I see fit.”

His bravado faltered, and he cowered a bit under your gaze, mustering a well-mannered smile. Then, as though it were an afterthought, “of course…take your time.” 

Mock hurriedly left the house, retreating back up past the gardens and out into the street. 

As soon as the man was out of earshot you exhaled sharply with a subtle shake of your head, entering the dining room. “Slimy men, estate managers. Always waiting to get their cut of the sell.”

Eld didn’t respond to that, instead leaning up against the foyer wall with his arms crossed. He peered into the living room, then looked back at you with an eyebrow lifted. “Müller?”

“Real estate agent. Likely wants me to put the house on the market,” you replied bitterly, gently leaning down to pick up a dining room chair that had been knocked over. 

“Will you?” He asked, and you felt your temper ignite. 

“Perhaps I’d have a moment to think about it if so many men weren’t adamant on sticking their noses into my business,” you replied cooly. Eld didn’t respond. 

You pressed your lips together, feeling immediate guilt. What was the matter with you? It was hardly his fault you were in this situation. 

“I apologize,” you said, much gentler than before.

“It wasn’t my place,” Eld replied.

“Regardless, I owe you decency.”

“You didn’t owe me an answer.”

The house was silent. You bitterly reminisced on how your last conversation with your father was an argument. The newspaper he had been reading still lay open on the table. You turned away from it, swallowing thickly. 

“The will should be in his study,” you spoke after some time, turning to Eld from where you stood, “I’d like to collect some personal items, first.”

“I’ll be close behind you,” he replied, and you found that he didn’t look upset by your brusque comment from a moment ago. It made you feel a bit less guilty, although it wouldn’t surprise you if he was simply used to poor treatment as a member of the military. You scorned yourself for being snippy with him.

Nestled between the entrance to the dining room and the kitchen was the foot of the stairwell. You turned to the climb the stairs, the sound of your heels reverberating with every step. Eld followed behind you.

At the top of the stairs you could see the door to your bedroom hanging halfway off of the hinges. The wood around the doorknob was splintered, and from where you stood in the hallway you could see items on the floor. No doubt the mob had raided your belongings in search of valuables. You gently pushed the door open, bracing yourself for what you might find. 

The room was largely how you’d left it. Your bed was still made, but the entire frame had been pushed to the side, like someone had checked underneath it to ensure you hadn’t hidden there. The drawers to your dresser were all open, as well as the doors to your wardrobe. A couple of gowns lay in a heap on the floor. Knickknacks were knocked to the side and strewn across the top of your dresser. The laundry hatch was still closed. 

Eld stood behind you in the hallway, peering over your head into the room for a moment before turning away with a soft sigh. 

It was difficult to come to terms with the way it looked. You always kept your bedroom neat and orderly—a carryover from your Academy days. Your throat felt tight, and you purposefully forced the feeling away. Later, you could feel sorry for yourself. Now, you had a job to finish. You weren’t here to reminisce.

On the floor next to your armoire lay a small trunk, and you picked it up and lay it open on your bed. It was small, and easy enough to carry. You’d pack it with whatever you found important—if anything important still remained. 

That was another thing you hadn’t considered. You had no idea what had been stolen from your bedroom, and all things considered it was likely that your room wasn’t the only place that had been gutted. The nagging thought that the rioters could have raided your father’s study gnawed at the back of your mind. You pushed that aside, turning to survey the damage. 

The room was a mess. You set about your job. 

First came the wardrobe. You’d need gowns for meetings and interactions with the public—four or five should do. You chose your favorites and folded them neatly, tucking them away into the trunk. Interestingly, it looked like your armoire had escaped the plundering; your gowns and shoes were all intact. Your desk and dresser, on the other hand, had seen better days. 

The desk drawers were all but emptied, their contents littering the floor. You began cleaning, taking mental stock of the things that remained as you did so. The brooch your Dean had awarded you sat where it had been on your dresser three weeks prior. Your jewelry remained largely untouched—a pair of earrings had been thrown to the floor, but other than collecting dust, they were still in mint condition. 

Of all of the things to be tampered with your schoolbooks certainly weren’t at the top of the list, and yet the books you kept between two bookends on your dresser had been cast to the floor. You picked them up one by one, stacking them on your desk as you did so. 

A beat passed. You frowned. 

You stared at the stack for a long time, counting once more to be sure. From what you could tell, all of your books were still present. You supposed it wasn’t so strange—books wouldn’t fetch a high price at any market. No, what little silver and gold remained in circulation was reserved for valuables, not schoolgirl’s literature.

You carefully returned to your dresser, sifting through your jewelry and other knickknacks again to confirm. 

Nothing had been stolen. Not a single item was missing. 

Strange. Maybe the intruders hadn’t found anything of enough value to sell? No, that didn’t seem quite right. Your jewelry was certainly valuable, and each of your gowns was in pristine condition. There was plenty to steal. What’s more, none of it was traceable. Any single man or woman in that mob could’ve made a pretty penny off of your misfortune.

Your eyebrows pinched as you counted again, like you didn’t believe yourself. It was too convenient. You didn’t dare believe it. It almost looked like whoever had been snooping around in your things hadn’t been attempting to steal at all. 

They had been _looking_ for something. 

Eld called your name. You turned, torn from your thoughts. He held up a scrap of paper. “Does this look familiar?” 

You took it from him, peering at it with narrowed eyes. It was a hastily scrawled list of four addresses. The list may have been longer originally, but it had been torn halfway across, the latter half of the list nowhere to be found. You realized with a sickening feeling that one of the addresses was your own. A chill passed over you, and you looked up at Eld with a grim look on your face.

“I don’t. It might’ve belonged to one of the intruders,” you replied, reading through the list once more. Eld hummed, frowning. 

“Odd the interior police didn’t take it as evidence during their sweep. It was lying on the floor,” he said, indicating to where he’d found it. 

You frowned as well. “Not necessarily well-hidden,” you noted, turning to look out your window into the gardens. Two MPs were stationed at the outer gate, mouths moving silently as they chatted. Eld followed your gaze and seemed to pick up on your thoughts.

“They might find it useful. I’ll take it out to them,” he offered. You paused, turning back to the mess of knickknacks you’d picked up off of the floor.

You rolled the metaphorical dice. 

“Don’t bother. It’s likely nothing important,” you said, feigning nonchalance. Eld looked at you for a moment, then gave you a one-armed shrug.

“All the better. Don’t particularly like sharing air with the Military Police,” he quipped, returning to where he had stationed himself in the doorway. You huffed out a laugh, folding the scrap of paper and tucking it away into your trunk. 

Something seemed amiss. Uncollected evidence, and not a single item of value missing? Strange indeed. You vaguely wondered whether the interior police had conducted an investigation of your home as a crime scene at all. You made a silent note to investigate the other addresses on that scrap of paper later. As for now, you had business to attend to. 

You spent the next few minutes sorting through your jewelry and the assorted knickknacks you’d collected over the years. All of your mother’s old necklaces were neatly folded into a velvet bag and placed into the trunk. You stared at the gold brooch awarded to you at your graduation for a long time before tossing it into the suitcase as well.

You made quick work of the rest of your room, packing an extra pair of heels, some slacks, and a casual top, along with a few family heirlooms and significant belongings. Eld helped you push the bedframe back into place.

After finishing up in your bedroom you closed your trunk and latched it, then led the way to your father’s study. His workspace took up the opposite wing of the upper floor, and as you approached you noted that the door was shut. Eld followed close at your heel. As you reached for the handle for a split second you feared it might have been locked, but the handle turned, and the door swung open with a low groan. 

Upon entering the room your eyes widened to the size of saucers. 

The study had been demolished, papers thrown to the floor and dumped from file cabinets. The huge wooden desk was overturned, papers and framed certificates lying on the floor amidst shards of broken glass. Oil from an unlit lantern had leaked from the fuel canister, staining the hardwood black. 

“Good God,” Eld muttered under his breath. You set your trunk down on the floor with a _thunk_ and hastily made your way to the overturned desk, grabbing the lip and pulling hard to get it upright. Eld quickly came to your aid. 

“There’s a locked drawer on the other side,” you grunted as the two of you turned the desk right-side-up. Eld seemed to understand what you meant, and he indicated for you to go around to the front of the desk as he lifted. 

To your relief the drawer jammed when you tried to open it. “It’s still locked.” 

“Do you have a key?” Eld asked as you tugged at the handle. 

Your response was to take the metal butt of the empty lantern on the floor and violently ram it against the drawer like a battering ram. Eld grabbed your arm, looking startled.

The drawer popped open. He released you uncertainly.

“Good arm,” he noted.

“Thanks.”

Inside the drawer you found a thick binder of papers, your family crest emblazoned on the front cover in wax. You pulled it out, careful not to jostle the pages. Inside of it was, just as you’d expected, your father’s will, as well as a detailed record of his accounts, finances, and stocks. You set the bound stack of papers aside.

As you looked through the documents Eld pulled something else out from the locked drawer and set it down on the desk with a _thunk_. “Was this your father’s?” 

You glanced over. You blinked. Sitting on the desk was a textbook, old and weather-worn, the Academy stamp printed into the spine. 

It was one of your old history textbooks. You reached for it, the financials already forgotten. “It’s mine,” you replied curiously, dragging the book across the desk and flipping to the inside cover to see your name and graduation year stamped onto the sleeve, “from God knows how many years ago.” 

You flipped through the book lazily, seeing your own notes scribbled into the margins in blue ink. You must’ve left it in the study a long, long time ago. It likely got mixed in with your father’s things. 

“Any idea why it was in there?” Eld asked.

“Probably by mistake. I’m sure I left it lying around one day or another,” you replied with a shrug, closing the book and reaching down to unlatch the top of your trunk. There was just enough space for the book to fit, and you you shoved in on top of your gowns and snapped the suitcase shut once more. “We have what we came for. Best not keep our dear Mr. Mock waiting, no?”

Eld pursed his lips with suppressed amusement. You picked up the file in one arm and your trunk in the other. 

The rest of the day was, put simply, terrible.

Evander Mock was positively delighted to read through your father’s last will and testament with you in painstaking detail. Every last line was accounted for—your father’s financials, stocks, estate, accounts, and each and every one of his liquid assets had been transferred into your legal possession. Yours was the only name on the document. Mock did little to hide his distaste at your father’s decision.

There were dozens of forms. The paperwork was torture. You had to handle the estate tax, as well as settle your father’s debts (of which thankfully there were very few). 

Then, of course, there was Kolje Müller, a real estate agent lugging with him a briefcase overflowing with proposals. He rattled off his sales pitch in one breath, spreading floor plans and hypothetical listings out over the dining table. _’If you sold it as is,’_ he explained, pointing to one of his many financing options, _‘the place would go for a fortune. A pretty penny for a pretty lady.’_

Eld made a face out of the corner of your eye. You fixed Müller with a cold look. He shrank into himself and continued on, now with much less swagger.

The mortician, a skinny, pale man named Leon Weber, gave you your father’s death certificate and the name of a local funeral home. You exchanged contact information with him and asked to be sent Francis’s paperwork so that you could go about planning his funeral as well. Mr. Weber gave you a funny look at that, but didn’t dare ask questions. 

Mock and Müller spoke quietly amongst themselves, sending sidelong glances to Eld, who hovered at your side like an overbearing father. Mr. Weber left soon after you decided on a closed-casket ceremony.

A privately contracted attorney named Dirk Wagner stood with you, silently sorting the mess of papers on the dining table into separate piles. He looked up at you after reading through the estate tax conditions. “Ma’am, you don’t have to make a decision right now. Most people wait until after the funeral to handle the fine details,” he shot a wayward glance over at Müller and Mock, who were engaged in heated gossip like schoolgirls. “Although some are more... _eager_ to get the ball rolling.”

You huffed out a short, humorless laugh in response. Standing at the head of the table was, you were learning, no easy feat. You were silent as you turned your gaze away from the documents, staring with tired eyes into the living room for a very long time before you spoke. 

“How soon can you put the home on the market?”

Mr. Müller’s head snapped up from where he stood in the foyer. He looked at you strangely, like he hadn’t quite heard what you said. Wagner sent you a surreptitious glance, but held his tongue. 

“I beg your pardon?” Müller said after a moment. 

“The house. I’d like for you to sell it. How quickly can you list it?”

There was a long pause as he straightened up, exchanging a disbelieving look with Mock as if he couldn’t believe his luck. “I can get it in the papers by morning, ma’am. I’m glad you made the correct decision. And the furniture?”

He sounded giddy. His slice of the sell would certainly be enough to line his pockets. You thought about the furniture for a moment, dragging your fingertips over the back of the upholstered couch separating the dining room from the tearoom. “There’s a school just outside of the southernmost part of wall Sina. We passed it on our way in from HQ. I’d like to donate the furniture to them, if possible.”

The room went pin-drop silent. Mr. Müller visibly deflated. “The Schäfer Boarding School?”

“That’s the one,” you replied.

“You want to donate _all_ of your belongings to the school?” He probed, his expression one of thinly masked skepticism. 

“I have what’s important,” you answered firmly. Mr. Müller looked at you like you’d lost your mind. You regarded him cooly. He swallowed.

“Ma’am, the home would go for far beyond its list price if you sold it fully furnished—“

“Mr. Müller, forgive me, but I don’t _care_ ,” you cut in sharply, nostrils flaring. You were getting quite tired of these men and their refusal to do as they were told. “You and Mr. Mock have been chatting up a storm, so I’m sure you’re well aware of the fortune I inherited today. The furniture is of no use nor value to me. There are students who would benefit greatly from this donation.”

You stood chin-up, looking from Müller to Mock as though daring either of them to say a word. “This is my final decision. You will heed it, or I will find a new agent to assist me in the process.” 

Evander Mock visibly blanched, averting his gaze. Müller looked like he’d seen a ghost. He swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. 

“I’ll take care of the arrangements.”

...

It was in the papers within hours, the news circulating like wildfire as flatbeds were loaded with the furniture from the late Advisor’s home.

His daughter had donated, at no cost to the Schäfer Boarding School, every last bit of furniture from the noble home. The beds, the tables and desks, the lamps and dressers and chairs and clothes. Everything went, and by the end of the day the old home had been all but cleaned out. The bones went up for sale the very next morning.

The Advisor’s will, townspeople whispered amongst themselves, was only two pages long. Every last item, down to the pennies lost behind dressers and the bills long forgotten in coat pockets, had been transferred into the young woman’s name. It was an upset. For a woman to become the sole beneficiary to an estate that large was unheard of. And yet. 

Marge Kleinman watched it all from afar, lips pressed together into a twisting, sideways smile. She tugged the brim of her hat low over her eyes. 

Two gruff-looking men rolled up to the empty stall across from her, chatting idly amongst themselves as they unloaded their goods—rounds of old cheeses and cured meats. A paneled sign was hung between the posts of the stall. _Krueger’s Best: Artisan Goods_. 

Around the stall gathered a handful of eager customers. Marge grumbled under her breath, not fond of the smell of smoked cattle. 

Bits and pieces of conversation floated across the cobblestone street. Whispered praise and hushed awe, long glances down the road where the big house stood. Marge watched a small group of men load a cargo bed with living room furniture. A pair of young women walked by, their aprons dirtied and their shoes worn through. They whispered in wonder about the Advisor’s daughter. 

A big, shiny, new umbrella blocked the sunlight and the midday heat, shading the jewelry on Marge’s cart. A familiar emerald necklace glittered around her neck.

She smiled.


	10. The Unwritten Sins of a Dead Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, thank you all SO much for over 200 kudos! <3 i'm blown away by the support, and i'm really excited to share the next few chapters with you. this chapter sets up the main focus of this story, and i hope you all enjoy the little windows into other characters' lives and thoughts. 
> 
> as always, thank you for reading :)

  
_**LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT** _

_I, as a resident of Mitras, Wall Sina, of sound and disposing mind and memory and over the age of eighteen (18) years, and not being actuated by any duress, menace, fraud, mistake, or undue influence, do hereby make, publish, and declare the following to be my Last Will and Testament, revoking all previous will and codicils made by me._

_**I. EXECUTOR:** _  
_I have one child, my daughter, whose name and date of birth are listed below. I appoint my daughter as Executor of my Last Will and Testament. If my daughter is unable or unwilling to serve, then I appoint Mr. Evander Mock as alternate Executor._

_My Executor shall be authorized to carry out all provisions of this Will and pay my just debts, obligations and funeral expenses, as soon as practical._

_**II. SIMULTANEOUS DEATH OF BENEFICIARY:** _  
_If my daughter shall die simultaneously with me, I direct that I shall be deemed to have survived her, and that the provisions of my Will shall be construed on such presumption. Note that the sole beneficiary is my daughter, and to no other individual will the provisions of my Will be redacted for._

_**III. BEQUESTS:** _  
_I will give the person named below, if she survives me, the Property described below:_

_I leave my estate, including my home and the land in my name, to my daughter._

_I leave all stocks, accounts, bonds, and mutual funds to my daughter._

_I leave all unproductive properties to my daughter._

_I leave all possessions, physical and otherwise, to my daughter._

_**SIGNED, SEALED, PUBLISHED, and DECLARED** by the Testator to be his Last Will and Testament._

_Witnessed by Mr. Evander Mock and Mr. Dirk Wagner._

* * *

My dear,

I hope this letter finds you in better health than I am in, considering that when this letter finds you, I will likely have met my maker. 

There is much I wish to tell you, some of which Mr. Mock will have already explained. I’ve enclosed a record of all of my transactions for each of my accounts that will be helpful in settling my debts. Please, dear, be nice to the man. I know you dislike niceties (as do I), but these things are necessary in our world. The Earth does not turn without common courtesy.

Dirk Wagner will help you with settling the estate tax. He’s a good fellow, and a good golfer. Your grandfather used to tell me that the best way to know a man’s heart is through an eighteen-hole course. That man played a zero-sum game, and I scored in the double-digits. Take that as a testament to his character. I suppose that means that I’m a lesser man, in which case, maybe golf isn’t always a good indicator of rectitude. Regardless, he will be of much help to you during these times. He is also, as you will learn, not one for niceties either. You’ll appreciate him for it.

Through my years as chief advisor to King Fritz I’ve learned it is certainly not easy being King. More difficult than that, though, is being a father. I fear that in my struggle to do well by the former, I failed miserably in the latter. In this packet there is a portrait of myself, you, and your mother, painted back when she was in good health. I hope you’ll keep it with you. Partially because it cost me fifty gold pieces, but also because I feel her spirit is alive within it. You are just like your mother, my love. You are just like your mother. In some ways I wish you were not. You have her curious spirit, which is a blessing and a curse. There are many things that one should not be too curious about, but I doubt that this letter will do any good in convincing you otherwise if my years of nagging didn’t do the trick.

There are many things I wish to tell you, many of which will likely remain unwritten for your sake and for mine. These walls are filled to the brim with alternative truths—frustrating, but necessary evils. Mitras is a bucket of red herring, and I am a man with the barrel of his rifle pointed into the masses. It is difficult to be a man of conscience in a profession where there seems to be so little of it to spare. I would advise you to keep both eyes open, but I trust you already know this. You were always too keen for your own good. Perhaps that’s why you asked me so often about my work. Understand that my vague answers and short manner were for you, my dear. All I can hope is that you don’t loathe me for my secrecy. 

There will be much for you to do. I’m sure the circumstances surrounding this letter will be tiring enough as is. This old man’s lament will likely bore you half to death, so I’ll try to be concise.

I love you, more than you know. Be well.  



	11. Requiem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> congrats for making it this far! we have officially entered canon era. i am SO excited to share the next few chapters with you all, and I think that the coming events will really shine a light on the central themes of this story. 
> 
> thank you all SO much for over 200 kudos! i'm so so so happy you're all loving this fic <3

Stohess was located at the eastern edge of wall Sina, a well-to-do district filled with well-to-do people. A bustling trade city, it was home to one of the largest MP bases outside of Mitras, and saw a good deal of traffic through to the interior. 

Some people liked to call Stohess the district that never slept. Even at night the market quarter was alive, although the crowd certainly changed once the sun went down. Pretty women danced in the streets, musicians beat drums and played handheld instruments. Vendors sold strange powders and liquids sure to either show you a good time or send you straight to your maker. Teenaged boys drank watered-down alcohol and pretend to be drunk, stumbling through the streets without a care in the world. 

Sometimes you’d hear the military police fire warning shots into the air to disperse the night crowds, breaking up celebrations and sending illegal vendors running for the hills. Their goods were often confiscated, though you had no idea what became of the strange pills and vials after the MPs got their hands on them.

The only times it was ever quiet in Stohess was early in the morning, when peddlers hadn’t set up shop yet and the military police hadn’t begun running rifle drills. 

It was quiet now, just after daybreak, although you could hear the sound of wooden wheels on cobblestone as the occasional carriage rolled by your second-story flat. 

Sunlight streamed in through an unshuttered window. Your trunk lay open on the floor, halfway unpacked.

It had been two weeks since your departure from the survey corps’ headquarters. You absently wondered what Hange was doing, and if Petra and the rest of Levi’s squad was alright. You hadn’t seen them before you rode to the interior, and it was beginning to look less and less likely that you’d ever get to see them again. 

The morning after you and Eld returned from Mitras, the legion departed from Wall Rose en route through Trost’s southern gate, marking the start of the 54th expedition. You slept in for the first time in weeks.

That morning, you spent some time unpacking your trunk, hanging your gowns in the small wardrobe tucked into the corner of your room and setting a few knickknacks on your dresser. The torn note with the list of addresses sat on your desk, and you read it once more before tucking it away into your pocket for safekeeping. 

Your crutch, which you hadn’t used in days, was leaned against the wall next to the hot water tap, already collecting dust. You decided you ought to return it to the infirmary—Lena would likely need it for an injured scout when the legion returned that evening. 

The castle was eerily quiet, but you were glad to see the infirmary was bustling with activity, a handful of medics and a half-dozen patients idling around and chatting in quiet voices. 

You found Lena knee-deep in patient files, muttering profanities to herself.

“I see you’re walking again,” she commented amusedly, barely looking up from the files she was thumbing through.

“All thanks to you,” you grinned, tapping the crutch against the floor. “I brought you a gift!”  
“You shouldn’t have!” Lena took the crutch from you gratefully, leaning it against her desk. “I’m glad you brought it back. Do you know how much equipment these soldiers lose?” She shook her head disapprovingly, waving her hand about. “ _Too_ damn much. Budget’s tight as is.”

“So I’ve heard,” you replied, leaning against the wall next to Lena’s desk and peering out a window overlooking the front of HQ. “Eld was telling me about the negotiations underway for supplies. No dice?” 

“None yet. The Commander secured funds for this expedition, but it seems hospital supplies aren’t his top priority,” Lena said, pursing her lips. 

You frowned, noticing the bare shelves lining the back wall of the infirmary. “Funny. For the branch with the heaviest casualties you’d think the infirmary would be...” you indicated vaguely to what few supplies remained, “better stocked.”

“You’d think,” replied Lena with a one-armed shrug, “no cigar. Can’t say I disagree with the Commander, though. We don’t usually get to see life-threatening injuries here.”

You hitched an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

Lena looked up at you at that, grimacing. “The ones with injuries that bad usually die before they get back inside the walls.”

You sobered up almost immediately at her answer. “ _Ah._ ” 

“Think of it like this,” Lena suggested, noticing your change in demeanor, “most of the soldiers who make it back here have an exceptionally high survival rate!” 

You snorted, covering your mouth. “ _Lena!_ ”

“Sorry, bad joke,” Lena grinned, holding her hands up in surrender. “This job wears a girl out, I’ve gotta keep the age away somehow!” 

“I think I see a gray hair. Quick, crack another joke!”

“Ha, ha. Very funny.”

At Lena’s request you spent the next hour helping her reorganize the scouts’ medical records in alphabetical order. She’d already gotten through _Hoffman, Josie_ , so you picked up right where she left off. Reorganizing the library had certainly given you plenty of practice. 

After some time you stumbled upon an unmarked file. You held it up to get Lena’s attention from where she was crouched reading through the cadets’ records. 

“No last name. How do you want me to sort this one?”

“Yeah, some are like that—bad birth records in parts of Maria. Open it up and sort by their first name,” Lena replied with a wave of her hand. You flipped the folder open.

_XXX, Levi._

Interesting. This was the Captain’s file. 

You flipped through his record idly, dragging your index finger over the clean line of dates and signatures scribbled down the right side of the page. 

His chart included very few examination notes. Steady resting heart rate. Almost zero change in weight since his first exam. Not a single major injury. 

_No information on place of birth or surname, either,_ you noted, flipping the single sheet of paper over to see if there was anything on the back. It was blank. You replaced the record and shut Levi’s file. 

The file piqued your curiosity, no doubt about it. The other soldiers had reports dating all the way back to their cadet years, yellowing paperwork from their initiations. His was barren.

You wondered against your better judgement why his file was so sparse. Clearly he was in excellent health, but even so, wouldn’t his record include information from his cadet years? 

You supposed there was the possibility that his older records were lost, although that wouldn’t explain the lack of a surname.

You scolded yourself for wanting to stick your nose in places where it shouldn’t be. It didn’t matter, either way. You’d sort him in with the ‘L’ group and be done with it.

It was difficult to put a finger on the strange feeling in your chest. You chalked it up to curiosity—a bad habit of yours, you supposed. It couldn’t have been that you wanted to know more about him, about where he was from. You certainly didn’t want to ask about his last name, whether he chose not to use it or whether he didn’t know what it was.

No, your intense interest in the man must have been the fault of your propensity for nosiness, and nothing more.

At least, that’s what you decided to tell yourself. 

Hoofbeats pierced the silence as you shelved Levi’s file.

“Damn, I thought they weren’t due to arrive for another couple of hours,” grumbled Lena, hastily shutting the file she was reading through. “Ah, well. Here, help me prep the clinic. They usually send the injured ahead of the group.”

As Lena prepped a mayo with fresh equipment you set a stack of unsorted files onto her desk, then leaned over to peer out over the front lawn. 

A beat passed as you watched the scene below you unfold. You raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Lena uncertainly.

“Do they usually send the injured ahead with the Garrison?”

Lena paused in her ministrations, looking at you strangely. “Pardon?”

“See for yourself.” 

She joined you at the window.

A disheveled looking Garrison soldier thundered in through the gates on horseback, decked in full gear with empty gas tanks hanging at her sides. From the infirmary window the two of you watched as she spoke with one of the soldiers who hadn’t gone on the expedition. He intertwined his fingers and put his hands on his head, and although you couldn’t hear their conversation the stress was imminent on his face. 

“What do you think...?” You mumbled the start of your question, trailing off uncertainly as the two soldiers spoke for a moment longer before the scout rushed into the castle. 

The garrison soldier remounted her horse and galloped off, back the way she came.

Lena looked unnerved, and a sudden jolt of fear shot up your spine. “You don’t think—?”

“Not the expedition,” she replied lowly, as if she’d read your mind, “the Garrison wouldn’t know if they were wiped out outside of the walls. Nobody would.”

“Unless the Commander sent a messenger squad when things got bad?”

“But then why would a member of the Garrison come here?” Lena shook her head, her eyebrows pinched. 

“You’re right, that wouldn’t make sense.” A moment passed before you turned to her urgently. “You don’t think Commander Pixis—?”

Lena placed a hand on your arm and glanced back at the few injured scouts in the infirmary as if to tell you to keep your voice down. 

“If he’s dead, they’d have waited for the Commander to return to break the news,” she replied quietly, although she sounded troubled.

“She came from the South,” you murmured, leaning close to Lena so that only she could hear. “Maybe from Trost?”

“Maybe. Her tanks were empty, though. Isn’t there a supply house in Trost?”

“Maybe she didn’t have time to refill?” 

A long moment passed. You and Lena watched the front entrance nervously, half-expecting someone else to hurtle through the gates. 

Lena looked visibly shaken, and she quickly returned to her files, shuffling papers with a bit more haste than before. You kept post at the windowsill, staring down at the beaten path from where the soldier had come.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” said Lena quietly, although she didn’t meet your eye. You watched her for a moment, then turned back to the window.

“I bet you’re right,” you replied, although you had a bad feeling about the girl’s sudden arrival and hasty departure, “if it were urgent they’d have sent a squad.” 

That seemed to get Lena to relax a bit. She leaned against her desk and joined you in looking out the window once more. “Yeah. You’re right. No sense in only sending one soldier.” 

“Right. It’s nearing evening, anyway, so the expedition is likely on their way back.”

Before Lena had the chance to respond the same young man you’d seen speaking to the garrison girl burst into the infirmary, red in the face. 

“Any scouts who are able to operate 3DMG have been instructed to mobilize _immediately_.”

An older scout with a boot on his ankle stood, leaning heavily on a crutch. “What the hell happened, Proctor?”

“I don’t know—I mean—God, I think there’s been a _breach_.”

The infirmary went deadly silent. You stared wide-eyed at the scout, then shifted your gaze to Lena, hoping for some sort of reassurance that the young scout was spewing nonsense. She gave you no such comfort, one hand over her mouth in shock. The injured man broke the silence.

“You outta your mind, solider? Who told you that?”

“A woman from the Garrison was just here, she was saying Shiganshina district fell, that the inner gate was demolished? It doesn’t matter, all I know is that the Commander ordered the rest of us to saddle up. They’re halfway back from Trost.”

“N’ what the hell do they expect us lame folk to do?”

“Christ, Schmidt, do I look like Commander Erwin? Get your ass up and let’s _go_!”

“Hmph. Shiganshina fallen, my foot. I’ll bet those useless outer Garrison fellas accidentally blew a hole in the wall. Fuckers can’t even operate a cannon.”

“ _Schmidt!_ ”

“I’m a-comin, kid, good lord.”

The soldiers in the best shape left the infirmary behind Proctor. You forced down the panic threatening to rise in your throat and quickly redirected your energy to helping Lena prep the clinic beds.

“I don’t like this,” Lena muttered lowly, vigorously disinfecting a mayo table and replacing the instruments. 

You wished there was something you could say to put her at ease, but frankly you were just as anxious as she was. “The legion will be back within the hour. We’ll just have to wait until then.”

The rest of the day happened so quickly that you barely remembered it. 

Over the next half-hour the scouts began returning to HQ in waves, wagons creaking and groaning as they were wheeled in, reloaded, and then sent back out into the fray. 

General Zackly had ordered the Corps to get boots on the ground in Maria to help as many civilians to safety as possible. The Garrison wasn’t enough to handle the evacuation alone. 

You remembered seeing Moblit and Lauda hurriedly switch out their gear, their empty gas tanks thrown in haphazard piles next to the hangar. Hange and the rest of squad four was nowhere to be found. You found yourself praying that she was alright. 

Only a handful of injured soldiers stayed behind, and the few medics scrambled to keep up, wrapping broken bones and disinfecting open wounds. The infirmary was crowded, and you and a few of the more mobile scouts helped Lena wheel beds into the hallway to make room for more patients. 

The squads that remained intact after the expedition changed out their gas reserves and tanks before remounting their horses and hurrying southward. Lena bit at her nails so hard they bled. You remembered with a nausea-inducing turn of your stomach that she mentioned having family in Wall Maria.

It was another hour of painful waiting before you spotted Eld thunder in on horseback, and you watched anxiously from the infirmary window for Petra and the rest of Squad Levi. Like Hange, they didn’t appear. 

It was possible they restocked in Trost—at the very least they might have switched out their blades.

You tried to ignore the terror that gripped you when you considered any of them might have been killed. 

The feeling was short lived, though. Before you got the chance to run down to the hangar to find Eld a scout with her arm in a sling summoned you to the stables to speak with Commander Erwin.

The smell was overpowering, that much you remembered. 

It was of horse shit and mud, of piss and bile. It was metallic. 

Bleeding soldiers paid no mind to their injuries as they hurried about, saddling rested horses and shouting to one another. You saw from afar a young man sitting crouched behind a water trough, his head in his hands as he rocked back and forth, whimpering. Another scout approached and spoke to him urgently, then tugged him to his feet and helped him back into the castle. 

The Commander stood at the center of it all, speaking with a short woman. Levi stood at his side, listening to their conversation with his arms crossed over his chest. You couldn’t help the wave of intense relief that washed over you when you saw the Captain—he was here, which meant it was likely the rest of his squad was alive.

The woman standing next to the Commander couldn’t have been much younger than you, with black hair tied to the side in a loose braid. She, too, stood with her arms crossed, grinding the toe of her boot into the dirt. Sewn into the arm of her jacket was a green horse and sword. 

You immediately became wary, remembering the slip of paper tucked into the pocket of your own jacket. Your expression hardened. The Commander beckoned you over.

Levi’s eyes bore into you. You recalled your argument in the library days prior and gave him a terse nod as you approached.

“I’m glad to see you’re both alright. I’ve been looking for—is Squad Leader Hange…?” You didn’t dare say _dead_ for fear of speaking her fate into existence.

“All fine, for now. Squad four is holding the line south of Trost,” Erwin replied evenly, and you relaxed a bit, although it was clear in the dip of his brow that he was just as anxious as you were. 

You turned your attention now to the Captain, albeit unwillingly. “And your squad?” 

“Alive,” Levi replied coolly. “Might wish they weren’t if what we’re hearing is true.”

It was a grim joke. Ill-timed laughter threatened to bubble up from your chest, and you pressed your lips into a thin line to suppress it. Erwin shot Levi a funny look.

“I’ll cut right to the chase,” the Commander began, indicating to the silent woman standing to his right. “This is Wren Kühn, a member of the Military Police sent on behalf of Commander Nile Dawk. I’m sure you’re familiar.” 

You jutted a hand out for Wren to shake, and the woman took it with a tight-lipped smile.

Her hand was sweaty—she was nervous, too. You introduced yourself politely.

“Good to meet you,” Wren replied.

“Likewise.” 

A loud crash sounded from the far end of the stables as a spooked horse reared onto its hind legs and kicked at the dirt, snorting. Full gas tanks scattered, one of them disengaging and releasing its contents with a shrill _hiss_. A young scout grabbed the horse’s reigns and cooed, laying a hand on the animal’s muzzle. 

The furrow in Levi’s brow deepened, but he kept his gaze trained straight ahead, not so much as turning to the source of the commotion. He must have been nervous as well, albeit the feeling was well-hidden. 

A vein in Commander Erwin’s neck bulged, although the stress didn’t manifest on his face. “Commander Dawk has extended an offer to house you near their base in Stohess for the time being. Until we understand more about the nature of our situation, it would be best that you take him up on that offer.”

Your stomach dropped. Your gaze flit briefly to Wren to see what she made of the news, but she kept her gaze trained stubbornly on the bales of hay at the far end of the stables. Unhelpful. 

Levi was similarly useless, not giving you any indicator of what he might have thought of the offer. He watched you with dark eyes, darker still in the low light of the stables. 

Although he was incredibly skilled at keeping his face devoid of any reaction, the Captain’s eyes gave him away. They held immense tension and worry, and you knew he’d much rather be in the field than at Erwin’s wing. You held his gaze for a moment as you turned the Commander’s words over in your head.

“And he thinks Stohess is safer, then?”

Erwin looked amused at that. He looked off to the side and pressed his lips into a thin line, fighting down a mirthless smile. “So it seems.”

“If what I’ve heard is true, frankly I don’t think Stohess is any safer than where I stand right now,” you replied evenly, and Erwin looked at you for a long moment before turning away. He didn’t seem particularly pleased with the offer, either. 

“I won’t pretend I disagree. I will say,” he pinned you with a steely look, “I cannot ensure your safety here given the circumstances. Understand this before you decide.”

That prospect was grim. Relocating again wasn’t optimal, and you couldn’t help but be wary of living so close to the Military Police when you were hiding evidence. Either way, Commander Erwin wasn’t giving you much of a choice in the matter. 

You turned to Levi. He watched you expectantly, and despite your wanting to look away you found it was difficult to tear your eyes from his. 

Then came the intrusive thoughts, things that you had convinced yourself were fleeting feelings. Moving to Stohess would mark the end of nights in the library. You wouldn’t ever come to learn what book he was reading. 

And worst of all, you’d leave with a sour taste in your mouth, the aftertaste bitter words often left. 

But Stohess was closer to home, closer to the interior police and closer to safety. 

If Maria had truly fallen, part of you—a selfish part—wanted to be as far from the breach as possible. You’d be in a position to better deal with your father’s funeral arrangements, to better sort through his documents and perhaps find out more about the addresses on the slip of paper hidden away in your jacket pocket. 

You nodded as though confirming something to yourself, then gave the Commander a terse smile. “I suppose I should thank you for the time you allowed me to stay here, then.”

“No need at all.”

“Please, give my regards to squad four,” you said to Erwin, then to Levi, “and to the rest of your squad.”

“I can only promise my best,” the Commander replied.

That reassurance didn’t sit quite well with you. 

Wren went to fetch her horse, and you asked a cadet to saddle up for you while you rushed back into HQ to pack your things. You left the key to your bedroom on your dresser.

On the center table in the library sat _Child of Cain_ , still half-open where you’d last left off. You tossed it into your trunk. In its place you left a short note, scribbled in haste on a scrap of paper you found in the pocket of your old trousers. 

You could only hope that it found its recipient.

...

The ride into Stohess was a short one, only half an hour from where you were located in Wall Rose to the district’s eastern gate.

As you and Wren thundered along through the forest you learned she was your age, a section commander for one of many Military Police personnel units. She helped you carry what few items you had up to your new living quarters upon your arrival in Stohess.

The flat you’d been inhabiting since moving to the interior was quaint, with one bedroom and a pretty kitchen with large windows facing the street. You purchased a few plants on your second day in the district to liven up the space, and they sat on the windowsill, content to soak up the sun.

It hadn’t taken long after your arrival for the news to finally reach Stohess. Shiganshina had been all but decimated. Wall Maria had been breached with no way to recover the lost land. 

Wealthy residents whispered in horror amongst themselves. They called it The Fall. 

You realized fairly quickly that you had been one of the first to learn of the breach, and the longer you stayed in the interior it was becoming increasingly clear that the extent of the damage was going to remain well-hidden. Newspapers printed stories about the Garrison evacuating the outlier districts, shuttling people into Wall Rose by the hundreds. Their efforts, along with those of the Survey Corps, were applauded.

Thousands dead, and most of the people around you were none the wiser. You shouldered the burden of that knowledge.

You were learning that as a guest of the Military Police there was little that you were allowed to do on your own. Wren, Klaus, and Hans—the three members of the personnel squad tasked to your protection—often accompanied you into the market to buy groceries. You made their job exceptionally easy by spending most of your time cooking and reading. 

Wren Kühn was a short, cheeky woman who was quick on her feet and even quicker with her turn of phrase. She liked to play chess with you, and although she often lost she was one of the only people you’d played that actually gave you a run for your money. Top of her class, she’d joined the military police over ten years ago and rose to the rank of section commander early on in her military career.

Between the two of you, she hated her job. Old men like Klaus and Hans knew exactly how to push her buttons.

Hans Bohl was pushing fifty, with a head of gray hair that stuck up on the sides like horns. He was a cranky old man of average height with the nasty habit of complaining about every single thing—but there was nothing he loved more than to hear himself talk. If it weren’t for his being drunk more often than not, he’d likely be the most skilled user of the 3DMG within the walls. 

Wren liked to call him the devil incarnate. Devil or not, he and Klaus could down a bottle of liquor without breaking a sweat. 

Klaus Vaughn was clearly the oldest of the bunch, although he refused to tell you his age no matter how you pried. He was sober more often than Hans, but that really didn’t mean much. Level-headed, chivalrous, and insufferably arrogant—Klaus had never married, mostly due in part to the fact that he was wholly in love with his job. 

You and Hans liked to joke that Klaus was actually just secretly in love with Commander Dawk. 

The four of you made up a rather motley crew, drawing strange glances whenever you so much as stepped foot into town. A pair of older women in stuffy dresses whispered loudly that the four of you might constitute a harem. 

Hans put that rumor to rest by saying he would rather have his head bitten off by a titan than sleep with Wren.

Wren did not take kindly to that.

In more ways that not, being in Stohess was good for you. It made communications with Dirk Wagner much easier, and put you only a stone’s throw away from the funeral home, which was just outside of the city district. 

Over the course of the next few months you paid your father’s due debts and finished planning his and Francis’ funerals. Letters were sent out to his friends and closer acquaintances. You hadn’t wanted to inform people of his passing so soon after the breach, but Wagner encouraged you to get the process over with. Times were uncertain. It would be best for all parties involved if his body could be laid to rest.

Being in Stohess was convenient. It also gave you much, much more time to think. And as you slowly tied up all of your father’s loose ends you became overwhelmingly angry.

At first your newfound anger was directed at the men who killed your father, at the mob that had taken their outrage out on an innocent man and God knows how many other men and women of nobility. Your blood boiled for the dead, for the mothers and fathers and children who died at their hands.

The hatred expanded, then, to the King and his council, for putting your father in such a position that he might be killed because of something he did not do. Did King Fritz care so little for his own men that he’d sacrifice them like chess pieces for his sake? How long, you wondered, did he poke the sleeping bear before it awoke? Had he known his citizens were angry and incited violence in spite of that knowledge?

Then you recalled the piece of paper in the jacket pocket of Petra’s borrowed uniform. The list of addresses left untouched on the floor of your bedroom. 

The anger extended too, then, to the Interior Police for their negligence. Taxpayer money went to feeding, housing, and clothing the pigs that called themselves military police, and for what? Your father was dead, and what did they have to show for it? 

Perhaps your father’s death wasn’t important enough for them to thoroughly investigate. Perhaps they simply didn’t care that they were being paid to do a job. 

With an investigation that only lasted four days, your father’s murder had been an open-and-shut case. 

The final report you were given included an hour-by-hour breakdown of the events on the day of the murders, beginning with the stationing of squads at key points around Mitras to keep a close watch on how the evening played out. 

Gunfire began at 8:36 PM, and isolated pockets of activity cropped up sporadically until the mob dispersed at around midnight.

According to the record, they killed 17 people in total, your father being one of them. While the MPs did identify and arrest two members of the mob, they both mysteriously turned up dead in their cells the next day, foaming at the mouths. 

With no further intel, Commander Dawk and Premier Zackly jointly determined the case to be a bootless errand. Your father and the 16 others dead were taken from the world by a senseless act of politically motivated violence, and as unfortunate as the situation was, that was all the Military Police could confirm.

But you had something Commander Dawk didn’t. 

You had a _lead_. 

It was clear to you now that the MPs would be of no help, not with the fall of Maria and civil unrest brewing in Wall Rose as refugees flooded in. 

No—if you wanted the job done right, you’d have to do it yourself. And so you tucked all of your grief away into the far reaches of your mind, away where you wouldn’t have to confront it, and took it upon yourself to get to the bottom of your father’s murder.

At first you tried to request more information through conventional means. You sent a well-worded legal request to the MP office of investigations and were promptly denied access to their extended records. 

You tried again, approaching Dawk himself to see if he could make an exception. Again you were met with a resounding ‘no’. The information was too sensitive, too fresh. The only reason you were given the final record at all was because of your blood relation to one of the victims. 

Endued with a burning anger that was quickly overtaking any reservations you might have had about working outside of the law, you decided that you’d find things out with or without the Military Police.

Four bottles of scotch and half a dozen shots later you had Klaus and Hans as drunk as poets on payday in your kitchen. From there it certainly didn’t take long to get them to start talking.

You had no idea two grown men could gossip quite so much. 

Which squads were most often plastered on the job, which soldiers shirked their duties and flubbed their paperwork. _The investigative branch of the MPs was the worst by far_ , Hans complained, _always leaving jobs half-finished._

Government property went missing left and right, according to Klaus. The administrative oversight was abysmal, and soldiers sold gear to whoever was willing to pay premiums. Usually the goods went straight to the underground district, where the paper trail disappeared almost entirely.

You were learning, the longer you stayed in Stohess, that the MPs were somewhat of a black hole. Drugs, drink, and information alike went in and did not come out. Sitting in your desk chair that night after Klaus and Hans finally left, stumbling away in a drunken stupor, you wondered whether it was simply due to lack of oversight. 

How long had the transgressions gone unnoticed? How deep did the mismanagement actually run? 

It was one thing for a handful of MPs to occasionally sell unused equipment to pay off their debts or to line their pockets. But for an entire branch of the military to be involved in black market trading...

The smoking gun was hot. If you stuck your nose in deep enough you might follow it all the way back to Dawk, or worse, premier Zackly. 

At the small desk in the corner of your bedroom, lamplight cast an orange glow over a roll of parchment spread over the table. A quill sat next to an ink pot. 

Did the abuse extend that far? It was possible that the cycle of laxity began and ended in the lower ranks of the MP. You couldn’t say for sure. 

_Child of Cain_ sat upside-down on your nightstand. The investigator in the novel faced a similar catch-22, chasing a dangerous lead that could very well get him killed.

For a moment you doubted yourself. What gave you the idea that you were up to the task of rooting out decades of corruption?

You were no investigator. You weren’t usually an optimist, either. And yet, you allowed yourself to think that this was something like revenge. 

You took the quill into your hand and began to write.


End file.
